


The Merryweather Hotel

by Conzieu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Challenge Response, EWE, Happy Ending, M/M, Mystery, Romance, auror!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:42:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conzieu/pseuds/Conzieu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twelve years after the fall of Voldemort, the wizarding world faces the threat of ever decreasing birth rate and eventual extinction. The return of one man from self-imposed exile brings a solution, though not without controversy. While insuring the man’s protection, Auror Harry Potter discovers that curses sometimes carry hidden blessings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Merryweather Hotel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2010 Severus Sighs Grand Challenge  
> Theme: Love and courtship  
> Prompt: A roll of the dice
> 
> Many thanks to skybleuangel for her help, jisa_hinode for her masterful Beta work, and to the wonderful countesszero for her final read through, incisive comments and sustaining sense of humor.
> 
> A podfic of this story was made by Starduchess and can be found at http://starduchess.insanejournal.com/2012/06/22/

The Merryweather Hotel.

Harry was sitting back in his swivel chair, his boot-clad feet on the desk.

“They’ve got the population survey results,” he announced, opening the Quibbler.

Ron Weasley, who was playing Liar Dice with Clarence Hicks and Malcom Ollivander called out: “Two sixes. So what’s the big number, this year?”

“Sixty-four percent.”

“Including Muggle-borns?” asked Hicks. “Four threes.” He was bluffing of course. Harry could tell from halfway across the room.

“Yes. Birth rate 1.75.”

That meant sixty-four percent of all children born with magical abilities in 2009 were male. Up from sixty-two percent in 2007 and fifty-five percent in 1949. The birth rate in Britain had been decreasing for years due to low fertility and an ever-worsening shortage of witches of childbearing age. This state of affairs was not unique to Britain.

“Mione and I have done our duty,” Ron said primly, referring to his two little ones, Rosie, age two, and nine month old Hugo. “Not like some slackers around here.” He pushed Clarence’s chair with his foot.

Romilda Vane-Hicks, who was the only one in the Auror’s office actually doing any work at the moment, looked up from her report.

“We’ve only been married six weeks, you big lug!”

“Excuses, excuses,” said Ron. “Let me know if you youngsters need some advice or anything.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, looking ridiculous.

Romilda snorted. Clarence called out, “Four fours. Weep, Weasley.”

Reluctantly, in the past ten years, the wizarding world had finally had to admit that the situation has become a crisis. In an attempt to find a solution, and in what was an unusually cooperative effort, an Annual International Conference on the Wizarding Population Crisis had been organized. The 2010 Wiz-Pop, as it had been dubbed by the media, was taking place in London.

Because it was a scientific conference more so than a political one, security was not as much of an issue as it could have been. Nonetheless the DMLE was on full alert in preparation, and every Hit-Wizard had been and would continue to be on duty until the end of the conference.

In a sharp contrast, it had been an uncommonly slow week for the Aurors. They were all in their staff room at the Ministry, officially ‘writing reports’. At one time, the staff room had been divided by cubicles, Aurors working on separate cases having little contact with one another. That it had been a flaw had become obvious after it was remedied. Captain Howard, a Muggle-born, had taken over and brought some understanding of human psychology to the reorganization of the force. The common space unified them, made them greater than the sum of their parts. 

Romilda’s partner, Peter Adams, was actually sleeping, his mouth hanging inelegantly open. As he walked in, Captain Howard slapped him in the back of the head with a handful of files, waking him up rather brusquely, though he generally didn’t mind their lackadaisical attitude. When it counted, his Aurors were the best there had ever been.

He pushed Harry’s feet off his desk, almost causing the swivel chair to tip over and sat on the corner. He waved the files in his hand.

“I’ve got a request for three of you to be assigned to the security of the American delegation to Wiz-Pop.”

Though much rolling of the eyes and moaning ensued, the truth was that they all wanted the job: it would be a nice break from the routine, three nights in the nicest wizarding hotel in London (The Merryweather, right in Theatric Alley), meals provided by the hotel’s three-star restaurant, and the chance to meet interesting, intelligent people who did not happen to be dark wizards in trouble with the law.

They ended up rolling sixes for it, borrowing a die from Ron. To everyone disgust, Harry rolled one on his first try. 

“Lucky with the dice, unlucky in love,” teased Ron.

“Right,” said Harry. “I should go to Vegas. Break the bank.”

It was ten minutes before Romilda Vane-Hicks rolled one, and yet another three turns before her new husband, Clarence, finally did, ruining Ron’s theory rather spectacularly. Ron tried to get Clarence disqualified since married couples usually were not put on the same assignment.

“Nice try, Weasley,” laughed the Captain, “but this isn’t exactly high risk. There are three scientists, two of them a married couple. Harry can be assigned to the gentleman, and Romilda to his wife. Clarence will babysit the third one.”

The Captain addressed the three of them. “It should be pretty straight forward. They received some life threats, that our estimated colleagues from the FBMI think were a hoax.” He pulled a face. “But. Your guy, Harry, is the Keynote speaker, and their research is supposed to be the big news at the conference, so . . .look sharp.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Howard handed each of them a thin folder.

“The American delegation is arriving tomorrow afternoon at three by special Portkey, right in the lobby of the Merryweather. You’ll shadow them the entire time, and you will be staying in a bedroom in their suite. Their profiles and schedules are in there. Enjoy!”

Harry took a sip of his coffee, leaned back in his chair and placed his feet back on his desk. He opened the folder and spent the next five minutes staring at the picture of the man whose security he was to see to.

He thought the man’s face had character: sharp cheekbones, a prominent aquiline nose, very pale complexion, and piercing, intelligent, dark eyes. His long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail; that was really the only difference Harry could see between the face in the photograph and the face he remembered from his youth. The ‘American’ scientist, the Keynote speaker of the conference he would spend three days protecting was Severus Snape.

Harry had not seen that face in almost twelve years, and yet, it still brought a lot of long-buried emotions to the surface. Immediately after the trial where Severus Snape had been only reluctantly exonerated (despite the evidence left behind by Albus Dumbledore and Harry’s own testimony), the man had completely disappeared. His house in Spinner’s End had been sold, his small inheritance from Albus Dumbledore cashed in, and he had not been seen or heard from since.

Harry had always thought he had retired to the country and was living under an assumed name. If the man wanted to be forgotten, Harry would do his best to forget him. Merlin knew Snape deserved some peace.

It had never occurred to him to imagine Snape in sunny California, in the open, with a whole new life, getting married for heaven’s sake… He realized he actually almost resented him for not neatly fitting the image Harry had had of him all those years. Harry shook his head at his own pettiness.

Snape, his wife Serena Marcos-Snape, and his colleague Steven Harper were Potions Masters and researchers at the Magical University of the Pacific, in San Francisco. One thing Harry felt he could still be certain of. Severus Snape was the last person in the world to need protection.

“Harry!” cried Romilda, looking through her paperwork. “Says here Serena Marcos’s husband is a Severus Snape. Is it _our_ Severus Snape?”

Harry slipped the picture he had been staring at from under the paper clip that held it to the man’s profile and turned it to Romilda Vane.

“The one and only,” he said.

“Merlin’s pants. Do you want to back out?”

A part of him wanted to, of course. But luckily, that was not the part in charge. Harry smiled at her. “Romilda, come on, it’s been twelve years. I’m actually kind of looking forward to seeing him again."

 

_Severus Snape put down the Potions Quarterly he had vainly been trying to read for the past twenty minutes. He looked around the office he had occupied for the past ten years. The walls were now barren, the shelves well-organized. He got up, walked to his window, and looked at the familiar view of the sunny Campus Quad._

_He had finished packing an hour before. Tomorrow, at this time, he would be back in Britain. Finally. The past twelve years had been good, but California had never felt like home. Too much newness, too much sunshine. Though no one could have guessed it from his usual cool and detached demeanor, he felt like a small child on Christmas morn. He was going home._

 

The next day, the three Aurors were at the Hotel at 1PM, reviewing the safety procedures with the hotel’s security, which was top notch, and the hit-wizards in charge of the security of the conference. Things looked well under control. They dropped off their bags in the smallest of the four bedrooms of the suite reserved for the American delegation, transfigured the huge king size bed into three singles, and made their way to the Lobby. 

The Merryweather Hotel had opened its doors in 1874, and though it had been remodeled extensively in 2001, becoming a Conference Hotel through the judicious use of wizard space, the architects had been wise enough not to touch the original décor. It retained its aura of quiet expensive luxury. 

At three o’clock exactly, the three ‘Americans’ appeared and were welcomed effusively by the Organizing President of the Conference, a rubicund little man who seemed completely out of his depth.

“Welcome! Welcome! Master Snape, Master Marcos, Master Harper, it is an honor! May I introduce you to your personal security? Uh…”

Romilda saved the man from embarrassment by stepping forward and greeting Serena Marcos.  
“Master Marcos, I am Romilda Vane and will be your security escort for the duration of the conference.” 

Serena Marcos-Snape was thin and pretty, probably in her late forties, with very short hair and a pleasant smile. She wore plain but well-cut red robes and had a no-nonsense air about her. She shook Romilda’s hand warmly.

“Auror Vane, a pleasure to meet you.” Harry could not help but look at the woman who had married Severus Snape with interest, and thought that she was not at all what he had expected, though to be fair, he had no idea what that would have been…

“Master Harper, I am Clarence Hicks.”

Steven Harper had grey hair, extremely thick glasses and the radiant smile of a much younger person. His light grey robes looked as if he had slept in them, perhaps more than once. He shook Clarence’s hand in both of his.

“Auror Hicks, nice to meet you,” and then looking around, “Glad to be here.”

Harry stepped up to Severus Snape, who, aside from the tie holding his hair back, looked exactly as he had always done, tall, dark, and forbidding, and greeted him with a short nod.

“Master Snape.”

Harry was impressed. Snape’s expression stayed perfectly composed as he returned the nod.

“Auror Potter.”

There was no way Snape could have expected him. After all, Harry was only here because of the roll of a dice. The man was as much in control of himself as ever.

In the elevator, Romilda and Serena Marcos chatted like old friends.

“Please, Auror Vane, call me Serena.”

“Then you must call me Romilda…”

Harper had a very thick southern accent, in complete contrast to Clarence’s aristocratic, vowel-clipping English, and the two of them could have been speaking different languages for all the communication they were able to achieve, but both of them being easygoing and naturally friendly, they enjoyed the humor of the situation.

Harry met Snape’s eyes in their reflection on the polished brass of the elevator door and thought he saw the slightest twinge at the corner of his mouth.

The Suite was gorgeous, with opulent furniture, antique rugs, original oil paintings on the walls and gorgeous draperies. The Americans were pleased at their palatial accommodations, exclaiming about the enormous four-poster beds, the marble baths with the huge claw foot tubs, and the thick, plush towels. Snape looked on, apparently amused. 

Romilda explained that one of the Aurors would be on duty at all times, and that they were never to open the door or leave the suite unaccompanied. Harry was surprised that none of them protested the safety measures, and started to wonder about the actual seriousness of the threats they had received.

“Severus, it’s close to midnight west coast time,” said Serena, yawning discreetly. “I’m going to turn in: I’ll see you at breakfast.” Harry wondered vaguely if all American couples slept in separate bedrooms.

“Yeah, I think I’ll go and rest my eyes too,” Harper concurred . “Hate that jet lag, don’t you know. G’night, y’all.”

“Good night.” Snape showed no sign of wanting to retire. He was standing by the window, taking in the distant view of the Thames. 

Harry caught a lingering look between Romilda and Clarence. He knew they had taken notice of the enormous bathtubs as well…

“Hey guys, I’ll take the first shift. I’ll get one of you at 11:00.”

“Are you sure, Harry?”

“Yes, no problem.” Though they were not suffering from an eight-hour jet lag, they disappeared to their room without arguments.

 

_As the Portkey deposited him in the hotel lobby, the smell of beeswax, the subdued lighting, the gorgeous fabrics and the bellboys' uniforms, all screamed ‘Victorian England’. Though he had yearned for home, the sense of rightness and immediate comfort still came as a surprise to Severus. Even the muted background noise felt right. The conversations around him had the proper intonations and rhythm of the speech._

_There were the Aurors, waiting for them: a tall man, so British-looking as to almost be a caricature, a lovely familiar-looking young woman, probably a former student of his, and a third fellow. Kindly rescuing the slightly overwhelmed conference president, Romilda Vane introduced herself to Serena. Hearing her name, Severus felt a wave of unease. He had taught her Potions for four years, DADA for one, and she had been a sixth year during his tenure as Headmaster. A Gryffindor, as well. How quickly the past returned to haunt him..._

_He was quite certain he had never met Clarence Hicks. Small mercies. The last Auror stepped forward, and Severus realized that until then the man had been projecting a discreet but efficaciously cast_ Notice–me-not _spell._

_It was Harry Potter._

_And he hadn’t even been back for five minutes. Unbelievable._

_On the ride up in the elevator, he took the time to observe the younger man. He had always been small, but was now almost of average height. The Auror uniform was flattering to his lean frame, the rune-engraved protective belts accentuating his trim waist and broad shoulders. His hair still looked somewhat untamed, but his face had lost the roundness of youth. It was fine-boned, but very masculine._

_The transformation that had started in his sixth year was complete. There would never be any mistaking him for his father now. The high cheekbones were Lily’s, as were the well-defined eyebrows. The rest was all his own. Even behind the ever-present round glasses, his eye color was striking. Why he should still wear those was a mystery to Severus. A strange affectation to be sure._

_In the suite, Severus listened with amusement to the exclamations of his American colleagues, enchanted by the hotel’s old world charm, as he took in the view of the Thames. He was home at last._

 

Snape was pouring himself a drink from a crystal decanter on the sideboard.

His back turned, he offered, “Make yourself comfortable, Auror Potter. Can I serve you a drink?”

“Yes, thank you. I believe there is Perrier water in the refrigerator.” Harry undid his many belts, removed his red outer robes and sat in one of the leather armchairs angled to the fireplace, his wand at his side. In the ornate mirror above the mantel, he could see the locked front door. He knew from discussing it with the hotel security that morning that the Floo had been disabled, but thought it was the weak link in the security.

Snape brought him an opened bottle of Perrier and a glass on the edge of which he had bothered setting a wedge of lemon, and set them on a casual table in reach of Harry’s left hand. It left Harry’s right hand free to handle his wand if need be. Snape then took a position similar to his, in the matching leather chair, allowing himself the same easy view of both the door and the fireplace. Harry smiled.

“You don’t need me here,” he commented, glad for some reason that he had been right, and that Snape was still Snape.

“I have to sleep sometime,” was Snape’s cool answer.

“Were the threats that serious? Our Captain suggested they might have been a hoax.”

“I requested the Aurors.”

“Ah.”

In Harry’s opinion, that put an entirely different light on their assignment. 

“My… wife and my associate are hopeless. They have never known physical danger.”

“Vane and Hicks are very good.”

Snape nodded in acknowledgement. “Newlyweds?” Apparently nothing escaped the man.

“Did the matching bands give them away?”

Snape snorted. “That and maybe their eagerness to retire at four in the afternoon. Non-withstanding that Silencing Charm…”

Harry had felt Clarence place the charm but was surprised Snape had. It had been very discreet. He had many questions for Snape, but knew the man was not one for idle personal chitchat, and held his tongue. They drank companionably for a while.

“You have learned the value of silence,” Snape commented.

Of course, Harry replied nothing. Snape made eye contact, his mouth definitely twitching this time. Harry smiled.

“All right, Potter. As the only news from home I have had for the past twelve years have been from the occasional Daily Prophet, I shall ask. Hogwarts?”

Harry could hardly imagine cutting oneself so completely from one’s roots, but then again, what had Snape had to lose? Harry had no idea how close a relationship the man had enjoyed with his colleagues before that last fateful year. He knew they had thought well of him, but nothing more.

“Minerva McGonagall is well. Headmistress, of course. Filius Flitwick is still there, still head of Ravenclaw, still a favorite of the students. Hagrid has retired to the south of France; Charlie Weasley is Keeper of the Keys. He is married, and has four sons. Pomona Sprout is in semi-retirement. Neville Longbottom teaches half the Herbology classes. Firenze has gone back to his herd, but Trelawney still teaches Divination. Potions are taught by Professor Jiggers, the son of the apothecary. There has been a new DADA teacher every year, of course. Professor Sinistra, Professor Vector, Madam Pomfrey and Madam Pince are still there. Filch passed away. Gregory Goyle has taken his place.” Harry had always gone up to visit every few months, but did so more often now that his godson was there.

“My Slytherins?” Even after all these years, they were still “his”. It might have surprised him more had he not known how Minerva felt about “her” Gryffindors.

The only Slytherin Harry was in touch with on a semi-regular basis was Theodore Nott. He gave it his best shot, nonetheless.

“Malfoy is an attorney. He lives at Malfoy Manor with his wife, Astoria Greengrass, and their son. Lucius died six years ago, in Azkaban. Narcissa Malfoy lives with her sister Andromeda Tonks.” Since Andromeda had raised Teddy, and Harry had always taken an active part in his godson’s life, he had gotten to know Narcissa very well and liked her very much, a bit of personal information he felt no need to share. “Pansy Parkinson married a French wizard, a count I think; Theodore Nott is a Healer at St Mungo’s. Flint plays for the Chudley Cannons, and Blaise Zabini is a successful dress robe designer. Millicent Bulstrode apprenticed with Ollivander. She’s making a name for herself as a great wandmaker. I don’t know much about anyone else.”

“Your friends?”

Harry glanced up at Snape. Was he just being polite? But he looked attentive and interested, and Harry saw no reason to not satisfy the man’s curiosity.

“Ron Weasley is an Auror. He and Hermione Granger are married. They have two children, a boy and a girl. Hermione works at the Ministry; she is an Unspeakable. Arthur Weasley is the head of the department of Muggle artifacts, and Molly takes care of some of her grandchildren: Ron’s two, Bill’s four, and Percy’s three. She has her hands full.”

“How many girls?” That had become a common question in the past ten years or so.

“Well, as I said, Ron has a daughter, Rose. Bill has one as well, Victoire. The other seven are boys.” Snape nodded.

“George Weasley?”

“He still owns Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and is richer than God. Lee Jordan works with him. Huh… George and Neville are together.” 

“What about Miss Weasley?”

“Mrs. Thomas. She plays for the Harpies. She has been married to Dean for ten years. They don’t have any children yet.”

Snape was looking pointedly at him, but Harry had no intention of volunteering personal information. If Snape wanted to know, he could ask. He didn’t.

“Miss Lovegood?”

“She runs the Quibbler. She married Seamus Finnegan. They have three daughters. She is pregnant again. Twin girls. Seamus says they are single-handedly going to correct the wizarding population problems. She credits her radish earrings.”

Snape smirked. “She was always a favorite of mine.”

“Luna?”

“Yes. Brilliant.” Seeing Harry’s surprise, he added, “Unusual, but brilliant.”

Harry was nonplussed. He had not thought Professor Snape had liked any of his students, even if he favored the Slytherins. He supposed if anyone deserved that privilege, it would be Luna.

Snape seemed satisfied with the extent of Harry’s report. He was pensive for a while. Harry wondered if the conversation was at an end, but it was not.

“Shacklebolt has done well as Minister, has he not?”

“Third time in office. He’s very popular,” answered Harry.

“A singularly non-committal response, Potter. Do you not think well of him?”

Harry smiled.

“Quite the opposite, but he is a close personal friend and ultimately, my boss. It would be hard for me to be impartial.”

“Understood. That said, do you feel comfortable discussing the Ministry’s policies?”

Harry was surprised that Snape would value his opinions on these matters, but was not shy about discussing them. They spent the next two hours dissecting the laws enacted since the end of the war, and though they were not always completely in agreement, Harry realized he enjoyed the debate very much. 

It became quite clear that Snape was less than satisfied with the state of American politics. His scorn and sarcasm were alive and well, and he put them to good use. Harry, who agreed with him on many points, found himself envying Snape’s scathing wit, sense of irony, and the ease with which he skewered American politicians. For emphasis, Snape sometimes punctuated his sentences with discreet and elegant hand movements. Harry was shocked that he remembered the man’s hands after all these years, the long fingers, the perfectly kept nails. They were beautiful.

Around seven, they ordered dinner from the hotel’s renowned restaurant “Flora and Fauna”. Harry laughed at Snape’s choice of steak and kidney pie and treacle pudding.

“Missed home much, Snape?”

Unabashed, Snape answered in all seriousness, “You have no idea.”

The food appeared straight from the kitchen to the small dining room table by elven magic, a small extra that prevented any chance of it being tampered with during delivery. Harry checked it automatically for charms, curses and poisons anyway.

Dinner was excellent, and the company was the most stimulating he had had in a long time. Harry was having a very good time and could have easily forgotten he was on assignment. He realized that, had he only just met Snape that day, he would have been very attracted to him.

When the coffee arrived, Snape reclined in his chair with the sigh of someone who might have slightly overindulged in the food. He turned his attention to Harry’s face.

“You surprise me, Potter. I always though that, were we to meet again, you would have many questions for me.”

“I have learned that having questions does not entitle one to the answers, sir, and I think that in the years past I have worked out the answers to many of them on my own.” 

Snape looked satisfied with that answer. “Would you mind if I showed less restraint and tried to satisfy my curiosity?”

“I’ll let you know.”

“I am surprised you became an Auror. I would have thought your adolescence would have given you your fill of dark wizards.”

“After the war, I went back to Hogwarts to sit my NEWTs. It gave me a year to reflect and to think about the future. Defense Against the Dark Arts was still my strongest and favorite subject. I am well-suited for this job. It is the path I would have chosen had Voldemort not been such a shadow over my teenage years. We defeated the man. Why should I let him influence my choices?”

“And you have found the work fulfilling?”

“Very much so, though I have been considering a change of career in the recent months.”

“How so?”

“Minerva has offered me the DADA teaching position starting in September. She wants an answer by the end of May.” Harry had not mentioned this to anyone and was surprised to feel so open to discussing it with Snape.

“What appeals to you about it?”

“I have had experience teaching in the Aurors’ program, and I enjoy it. Hogwarts still feels like home, and my godson will be in residence for the next six years.”

Snape nodded in understanding. “What makes you think you could hold the post for more than a year?”

Harry smiled. “I don’t believe in the so-called curse. The truth is that none of the previous teachers have had more than a year’s contract. I think some of them might have stayed had they given satisfaction.” _Or not been forced to murder the Headmaster,_ remained unsaid.

“I have given some thoughts to returning to teaching myself,” admitted Snape. He snorted at Harry’s expression. “Pick your jaw off the floor, Potter. My methods might be medieval, but my results are sound.”

It was true, however much Harry hated to admit it. The quality of the Potions education at Hogwarts had never been as high as when Snape taught the subject. The number of his students passing their Potions OWLs and NEWTs remained unequaled. And, after all, teaching at University level might be more to Snape’s liking. 

He finally had to ask. “How did you end up in California?”

“Serena Marcos and I had been corresponding for years, our interest in similar research having brought us into contact. When I told her I had decided to leave Britain, she arranged for me to join her research group, under Master Holter, on a temporary basis, for a three month fellowship. I have been there ever since.”

“How do you like it?” Harry shook his head and grinned. “I am sorry. I have to admit I have a hard time picturing you in warm sunny weather…” he chuckled, letting his imagination run wild, “wearing Bermudas and sandals…” he chucked again,” eating wraps and drinking wine coolers…”

“Don’t forget surfing and wearing mirror shades,” deadpanned Snape.

Harry laughed out loud.

“Oh, my god. You don’t, do you?”

“When in California…” said Snape, with a shrug.

“I don’t believe it.” Harry stared at Snape, challenging him to keep a straight face.

Snape sighed. “All right,“ he admitted. “It pains me to be so predictable, but no, I have not succumbed to the California lifestyle. The Potions Lab is, of course, deep underground, in the third basement to be exact. It seemed logical to obtain lodging in close proximity. An underground tunnel can access the library. Research can be demanding. Weeks pass without my ever setting foot outside.”

Harry shook his head again, certain, though he was not sure why, that he was being teased. “I don’t believe that either. I can see how you might want to cultivate that mystique, though.”

Snape smiled, and Harry was surprised at how young he looked when his face relaxed.

“Fine. The truth, then. I have a small house on the beach near Campus. No Bermudas, no sandals, but I occasionally enjoy a stroll barefoot in the sand. San Francisco is not as warm as one would think, but the area is beautiful. I take my vacations in the winter and go to Vermont. It reminds me of Scotland. I do enjoy the wine, though. Californian Cabernets almost make the sacrifices worthwhile.”

“What is your research about?”

Snape crossed his long legs. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out. You will be forced to attend my lecture. I hate to spoil the suspense.”

“When is it?”

“Wednesday, at four. You are lucky you will be on the dais. It will be standing room only.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Steven Harper has a gift for creating interest and excitement, and he did not book the largest room for us for the exact purpose of creating a crowd. It’s the American way. They live for this, their careers depend on it: the _Publish or Perish_ phenomena. Serena's and Steven’s tenures depend on it.”

“What about yours?”

Snape waved his hand dismissively. “I have had tenure for ten years. I improved the Wolfsbane Potion in some independent research, and the University patented it. That’s how it works.”

Snape talked some more about life in the ivory tower of academia and asked pertinent questions about Harry’s work.

They were both a little surprised when Romilda came in, asking Harry why he had not woken her before. It was close to midnight.

Harry got up and stretched. He would have to be fresh and alert the next morning, and the first lecture Snape planned on attending was at eight. He could not remember spending that many hours talking with anyone for years. It looked as if the jet lag had finally caught up with Snape who got up as well. As they said their good nights, Harry tried not to think about how glad he was that he would be seeing Snape again the next day. 

In their room, Clarence was stretched in the middle bed, snoring softly. Harry quickly did his evening ablutions, stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, slipped his wand under his pillow and fell into bed.

Snape had changed so little physically in twelve years. He actually might even look younger now that he had in his tenure at Hogwarts. The absence of stress would do that to a man. For a long time Harry had gotten used to Minerva and Filius speaking of Snape’s intelligence, his wide interests and his excellent conversation. He realized he had expected to meet the man they had described and not the caustic and hateful teacher he remembered, and he was glad of it. Some things were better left in the past.

 

_Entering his room, Severus had to admit to himself that he was a bit unnerved. As he undressed, he reflected it had been a very long time since he had enjoyed anyone’s company as much as he did Potter’s. The rash, hostile youth had given way to a thoughtful, intelligent, informed man, with a sense of humor. Their common past added depth to their connection, without the tension he would have expected. That the Auror was physically so very attractive did not help._

_He looked at his own reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. Sadly, his looks were what they had always been: a beak of a nose, beady black eyes, and crooked teeth; that his teeth were whiter, thanks to the efforts of his American Dental Hygienist, was only a very modest improvement. What did it matter? As far as he knew, Potter was straight. (And twenty years younger than he. And an ex-student. And probably involved with a charming young witch. But very handsome. And excellent company. ) Straight. Definitively straight._

_He shook his head at his own idiocy and went to bed, loving the antique four-poster and its heavy brocade curtains, the dawn bolster and pillows, the crisp ironed white sheets. He was asleep in minutes._

 

When Harry left the Aurors' bedroom at six in the morning, Romilda was asleep. In the suite’s dining room, the three Potions Masters were already having breakfast in Clarence’s company. Harry greeted everyone and shared his intention of making use of the Olympic-size pool on the top floor.

“An indoor pool?” asked Snape. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Harry had no objection, of course, though he would have never pegged Snape for a swimmer. Neither his wife nor his colleague seemed surprised though, so he concluded that it was nothing new. They made their way to the top floor in silence. The elevator opened onto a large atrium decorated with ferns, with doors leading to the changing rooms and a view of the impressive pool.

In the locker room, Harry changed quickly, determinately keeping his eyes to himself. However, once in the main pool, he could not help but notice Snape before the man dove into the deep end and started swimming laps. There was no evidence that he had ever exposed himself to the California sunshine. His skin was as pale as milk. He was very lean, but toned, and aside from his armpits, a dark treasure trail disappearing in his black togs and lightly haired legs, his body was smooth and flawless. The Dark Mark had faded and could easily have been mistaken for an old tattoo.

Snape’s dive was beautiful, rising nary a splash, and his stroke was smooth and regular. His turn was practiced and effortless, and he was already halfway through his return when Harry dove in. As usual, the water felt chilly at first, but after a few laps, Harry had found his rhythm and concentrated on pushing his body hard. Flying was his preferred workout, but was impractical most of the time. He ran, biked, and swam to keep in the athletic shape expected from all Aurors.

A pool half this size and a rather smelly workout room was all that was provided at the Aurors headquarters. There was also an asphalt basketball half-court where the Aurors could be often found shooting hoops. Because of his small stature, Harry was however always at a disadvantage while playing basketball and did not particularly enjoy it. He played one on one with Ron though, because his agility more than compensated for Ron's height advantage.

After fifty minutes, feeling pleasantly buzzed by the endorphins, Harry got out. Snape was already gone. They met again in the shower, where Snape was shampooing his long hair. Harry took notice that the saying about large noses and long hands once again held true before resolutely putting his attention on his own soaping up. Because his hair was very short (or possibly because he did not want to take a chance and find his gaze lingering where it should not), he was out of the shower and dressed again very soon.

Snape stepped out of the shower room with a towel wrapped around his waist and his fingers carding through his hair, looking…well. Seeing Harry was ready, Snape told him to feel free to go on up ahead. Harry reminded him that he was responsible for his security, and though Snape had snorted at that, he went to wait for him in the atrium.

“Thank you for waiting, Potter,” Snape said as they stepped into the elevator. It was Harry’s turn to snort.

“I am aware this is part of your duty, Auror Potter.” Silence took over once again, until Snape spoke once more. “ Thank you for mentioning the pool as well. The workout was refreshing”

Harry could tell an olive branch when he saw one. “You’re welcome.”

 

 _Severus was very grateful for the opportunity to work out. There was a long day ahead, and he had not swum in three days. It did not hurt at all that Potter had kept him company. While disrobing, Severus had been treated to the agreeable view of a very fine ass. He had lingered in the shower for a chance at the frontal aspect and had not been disappointed. Aurors kept in shape, and Potter was remarkably well-endowed for his small frame. Now he regretted his indiscretion. It would add a distracting dimension to his already complicated dealings with the younger man. The younger_ straight _man. What a waste._

 

Everyone was seated at the table when they returned, including Romilda, and breakfast was pleasant. The three scientists were all going to attend different lectures that morning but would regroup for a presentation at 1PM.

“You will be nice, won’t you, Severus?” asked Serena, who looked anxious about the afternoon lecture.

Snape looked at her as if she had gown an extra head. 

“All right, then. Will you at least be fair?” she insisted.

Snape sneered. “Aren’t I always?”

Steven Harper giggled at that, as Serena rolled her eyes.

“Maybe you could just…not attend?” said Serena, hopefully.

“That would be disrespectful of our young colleague, don’t you think, Serena?” asked Snape. “No, I would not miss it for the world.”

Serena sighed resignedly. Now Harry was looking forward to it. It seemed there might be other aspects of Snape’s personality besides his constant vigilance that might have remained the same through the years.

Snape and Harry left the suite first. They went down to the Conference room floor by taking the service stairs, a precaution Harry would have recommended, had Snape not done so automatically.

“The quality of the lectures is quite uneven, as I am sure you will notice,” he warned Harry.

“I probably would not know the difference,” answered Harry, honestly. “This is the first conference I have ever attended. In any case, I’m not here to educate myself, but to insure your safety.”

“As you are well aware, I can generally take care of myself. I mostly requested the extra security for Serena and Steven. While I appreciate your dedication, there is no reason for you to completely forgo listening to the presentations, if you were so inclined.”

Harry was surprised and not a little flattered that Snape would think him interested to do so. Snape seemed to read his mind.

“I do not consider you completely devoid of intelligence, you know.”

“Oh! High praise indeed!” replied Harry with a grin. 

Snape rolled his eyes. “Well, perhaps I am just interested in a layman’s impression.”

“All right,” agreed Harry. “I’ll try not to fall asleep.”

After they arrived in the ‘Meet and greet’ area, Harry gave no further thought to their discussion. The crowd was dense, and many people made a point to come and salute Severus Snape. Watching them as attentively as he was for possible nefarious intent, Harry noticed a lot of differences in their body language. Some came out of genuine interest or friendship, while others approached him out of obligation, and some with masked fear or outright dislike. It was obvious the Potions Master left no one indifferent.

Snape seemed perfectly at ease. If he was more attentive and respectful to some of his greeters than to others, he did not, in any case, openly insult anyone. He greeted a young scientist from Nigeria with particular warmth.

“Back again, Boniface?”

“Yes, Severus. Will you be there?”

“Will it be worth my time?”

The young man looked a little abashed, but answered enthusiastically. “I believe that this time, it will be.”

“Then I would not miss it.”

The young man left, looking both pleased and nervous.

A tall haughty-looking woman, who stood slightly closer to Snape than was absolutely proper, inquired after Severus’s missing wife.

“I am sure Serena will be here momentarily,” Snape answered, looking around.

Serena made a well-timed appearance and took the hand Severus extended to her in greeting. He pulled her close and deposited a gentle kiss on her temple, the only sign of affection Harry had ever seen between them.

“My dear,” he said, “you remember Master Greta Carlisle, don’t you?”

Serena hesitated just long enough before responding, “Of course, Severus,” to make it clear that she did not.

As they walked away together, Harry heard Snape chuckle to her: “Oh, well done, Serena,” to which she replied, in a very amused tone, ”Doesn’t the woman ever give up?” 

“Apparently not. You saved my virtue, once again.” 

Romilda gave Harry a bemused look. “Sounds like old Snape has groupies…”

Harry would have never admitted it, but he could very easily see the attraction. Snape stood almost a head taller than anyone else and, dressed in very well-cut, elegant black robes, he cut an impressive figure.

After their second lecture let out at noon, Snape decided to forgo the luncheon and go back to their suite for refreshments instead. Harry was glad. The crowd was even denser than it had been in the morning, a security risk, and Serena, Steven and their escorts had taken their break already and would be sitting at some committee meeting for the rest of the hour.

They ordered sandwiches from room service, took off their outer robes and sat down to eat.

“So, Mr. Potter, what did you think of this morning’s entertainment?”

Though Harry had kept his eyes on the doors and on the other attendees, he had also listened to the presentations. He was not, to tell the truth, entirely happy about giving Snape his opinion. He could easily make a fool of himself (or be made a fool of…). Ever the Gryffindor, however, he forged ahead.

“Well, that first lecture was a little weird. I thought.”

“How so?”

“I understand the Scandinavians have a better female to male ratio in their births, but why should that lead to the conclusion that lower testicular temperature is key to increase that ratio, I’m not sure. Maybe it is just the thought of having to live with a daily cooling charm on my underwear, but shouldn’t they consider other variables before fixating on that one? Could it be the unusual length of the summer days and winter nights they experience that far north, just as easily as the temperature of their…bits?” 

“Or their diet, perhaps?”

“Yes,” said Harry, “exactly. Their diet, or the vodka, or who knows what. I mean, they wear warm trousers, no?”

“I certainly would. You have touched exactly on the flaw in their study. They made a hypothesis and only studied the data that supported that hypothesis. The scientific approach was not all that common in the Magical world outside of the study of potions until recently. The magical world has a lot of catching up to do, though things are already much better than just a few years ago. What did you think of Boniface’s paper?”

The subject matter of that second lecture had been potions, so Harry was even warier of commenting.

“I can’t be absolutely sure but his study seemed sound to me. The number of twin births in Nigeria is impressive, and they do eat a lot of yams, and their neighbors, who have similar life circumstances and environment but less yams in their diet, do not have the increased number of twins. The extract they worked with did give positive results on goats. It seems to me they are on to something.”

“Yes, I think they undeniably are. A potion based on that extract could indeed possibly increase the preponderance in twinning and help increase the population. Though,” Snape added in a thoughtful and tragic tone, “anyone having taught the Weasley twins might question the desirability of such a development.”

Harry laughed, and Snape looked pleased his joke had not been misinterpreted. 

“Well,” he said, “we should head to the main amphitheater for the piece de resistance du jour.” He did not seem to be looking forward to it, and Harry wondered why. The program showed the next lecturer, a Tamara Holter, hailed from the Magical University of the Pacific, Snape’s own school. 

The amphitheater was almost completely full when they arrived. Though Harry could see Serena and Steven had saved a space next to them, Snape chose to sit in the very last row, his back to the wall. Harry approved for security reasons, but he had the impression that they were not what had motivated Snape. 

The lights went down and the lecture started. The young woman at the lectern was very pretty, dynamic, and charismatic. Her enthusiasm for her topic was easily transferred to the crowd, and her presentation was entertaining, with a lot of well-rendered colored graphs and pictures.

The longer the lecture went on, the worse Harry felt. He had thought the pure-blood propaganda had been based on prejudice, but it was clear that it had not been the case. All the facts Tamara Holter so eloquently presented showed that pure-bloods had more children, and a higher ratio of girls if they married pure-bloods. The group with the worst ratio of girl to boys was that of pure-bloods married to half-bloods, and the lowest birth rate was that of pure-bloods married to Muggle-borns. Muggle-born numbers were better if they married Muggle-borns, and half-bloods’ numbers were better if they married half-bloods, but still less than those of pure-bloods. The evidence seemed overwhelming.

The lights came back on, and people started asking questions, which Tamara Holter handled with grace and competence. Harry saw Serena turn around to look for Severus, and make her way back to him. She joined them against the wall as the session started wrapping up. It seemed the last question had been asked when Snape started to get up. Serena placed a hand on his arm.

“Must you?” she asked pleadingly.

“Did you and I just attend the same lecture, Serena? Of course I must.”

She sat down, her face in her hands. 

Snape only had to stand to his full height to attract attention and refocus the room. For the first time since the beginning of the presentation, Tamara Holter looked tense.

“Master Snape? Do you have a question?”

“Several, actually.” The amphitheater fell completely silent.

“Your methodology shows that you eliminated quite a few families from the survey.” 

“Of course. In any research some of the cohort have to be eliminated for different reasons, such as health, inability to be present for the medical examinations, delay in responding to written interviews and so on."

“How large was your sample?”

“Our final cohort was composed of forty-eight families.”

“How many of these were pure-blood?”  
“Five”

“So few?” someone commented in the crowd. Snape’s eyes glinted maliciously.

“How many had children?”

“All of them.”

“How many pure-blood families were eliminated from the study?”

“Seven.” 

“That’s more than were kept!” was another comment.

“How many of these families had children?”

“That’s irrelevant. They were eliminated for health or other logistical reasons.” Tamara Holter had delivered that non-answer impatiently.

“How many, Miss Holter?”

“None, but…”

“None? Did she say none?” This, from a woman in the front row.

“How many Muggle-born families were eliminated from the survey, Miss Holter?” 

“Twelve. All families eliminated from the study were eliminated for valid, thoroughly documented reasons…”

“How many of the Muggle-born families eliminated had children, Miss Holter?” interrupted Snape.

“Twelve, but…”

There was some general grumbling heard from the crowd. An older wizard asked Tamara Holter for clarification. ”Did you say seven out of seven of the pure-blood families eliminated were childless, while all the Muggle-born families eliminated had children?"

“Yes, sir,” Tamara Holter repeated, “but it was entirely coincidental…”

Snape now asked in a deceptively soft voice: “How many of the half-blood families eliminated had children, Miss Holter?”

There was a slight pause.

“Nine.”

“I see,” said Snape. “Nine out of how many?”

“Nine out of nine.”

“That’s preposterous!” exclaimed the older wizard.

“What about the pure-blood/half-blood families…”

Tamara Holster raised her voice: “As I said, it is irrelevant. All families eliminated from the survey were eliminated for logical reasons…”

Changing track, Snape asked: “Before these eliminations, Miss Holter, how large was your cohort?”

“We started with a hundred families.”

“And you eliminated fifty-two?”

“Yes.”

“For logical, indisputable reasons?”

“Yes.”

“Coincidentally removing from the study any childless pure-blood family?”

There were some laughs in the room. Tamara Holter ‘s hands were so tight on the podium that her knuckles were white. She did not bother answering.

“I noticed something interesting about your colorful graphs, Miss Holter.” Snape added in an almost conversational tone, as if on second thought, “The x and y axis units were widely disparate. It seems to me it would make a very small difference in number appear to be quite important. What statistical method did you use to ascertain the significance of your results?”

“Statistics are a Muggle science, Master Snape,” Tamara answered disparagingly.

“Yes, indeed. One of their more useful sciences, like mathematics or logic, neither of which you seem to have any grasp of either,” commented Snape, his remark once again followed by laughter while he stroked his lower lip, smirking. 

His expression changed to that of cold disdain before he continued. “The only thing you have clearly demonstrated here, Miss Holter, is your criminal lack of ethics and complete deficiency in personal integrity.” His voice was lethally soft, but carried effortlessly to every corner of the room. “This,” and here he gestured to include the podium, the screen behind her and the paper on her desk, “is the vilest propaganda, _nothing more_. It is certainly not _science_.”

“How dare you…”

“Well, I’d have to agree with Master Snape,” voiced in the older wizard who had asked her for clarifications earlier, effectively cutting off her strident retort. There was a brouhaha of agreement from the rest of the crowd.

Snape was not done yet. “You may feel free to prostitute your name for the advancement of your and your father’s racist agenda, Miss Holster, but I will be damned if you drag the reputation of our University along with it in the mire.”

Snape looked at the young woman behind the podium with a sneer of disgust and added, sadly, as if speaking to her alone: “Such a low level to which you have fallen. How… disappointing.” Severus Snape turned away from the red-faced young woman whose eyes were full of tears, and walked out of the room in a flurry of black robes.

“You seem well-acquainted with her research, Master Snape,” inquired a black-bearded wizard with penetrating eyes who had fallen in step with him and Harry.

“Until five months ago, I was Miss Holter’s thesis advisor, “ explained Snape.

“What happened?”

“Yes, Snape, what happened? Did you take inappropriate advantage of this young woman?” asked a younger blond wizard holding a Quick-Quotes Quill.

Snape dismissed this assertion with a snort so full of scorn and ridicule that the blond looked as if he had been slapped. The black-bearded wizard added to his embarrassment by asking him: “Do you work for the Scientific Wizard or for Witch Weekly, man? Have you not heard a word he’s said, or was his meaning beyond your comprehension?” 

Snape answered the original question.

“Miss Holter’s thesis advisory was taken over by Barnabas Holter, her father.”

“Are you not a member of Holter’s Potions department?”

“I am.”

“But you have always done independent research, especially since you got tenure, correct?”

“That is correct”

“And you are the only other researcher besides him in the department to have received tenure, aren’t you?”

“You seem well-versed in our university’s politics, sir.”

“I am an reporter, Snape. I too do research. We did not all start out as gossip columnists for the Witch Weekly…”

Snape nodded and walked away.

They did not attend any more lectures that afternoon, but went back to the suite. They had only had time to sit down and order tea when Serena and Steven joined them with Clarence and Romilda in tow.

Serena was livid.

“You just had to do it, didn’t you?”

Snape looked at her coolly. “Did you actually expect me to listen to her spew this kind of rubbish without commenting? Do you realize the possible consequences of this type of misinformation in the current American political climate?”

“He is right, Serena,” added Steven. “It’s the bread and butter of those idiots in Washington.”

“Steven, don’t you dare take his side!” She turned back to Snape. “And you, don’t you pretend you did this for the greater good. You and I both know you only did it as part of your ongoing little feud with Barnabas! This was yet another way to get under his skin!”

Snape did not even attempt to deny it. “Well, that was an added benefit, yes…”

“You humiliated her! You destroyed her career!”

“She deserved to be humiliated!”

“Why? Because she chose her father over you?”

“No, because she chose what was easy over what was right; because she does not deserve a career if she caves in to pressure instead of standing by her results. She is a bright woman. She might learn something from this.”

“Don’t you dare pretend you did this for her own good, Severus! You did it out of spite!”

Snape’s face was a bored mask. “Serena, we have known each other for so many years. Have you ever known me to have only one motivation for any of my actions? 

“Of course I did this because I hate her father. But I also did it because letting it go was unconscionable. I did it for the good of science, and I did it to humiliate her. I did it because I am unforgiving and spiteful, and I did it because it will help her in the future. I did it because this type of bigotry is a poisonous gangrene, and I did it because I am cruel and enjoyed watching her cry. There. Does that cover it all satisfactorily?”

Snape picked up his cup and took a sip of tea. Serena’s face was a battlefield of contradictory emotions. Finally, she turned away, walked to her bedroom, and slammed the door.

“Well,” commented Steven, “that went better than I thought. She forgot that after tomorrow, the whole thing will be moot, which really makes your viciousness today completely pointless. You are lucky she does not think logically when she is upset.”

Snape shrugged and said, “It was not pointless. I took great pleasure in it.”

Harry drank his tea in silence. Snape was still a vindictive bastard. He had hated the man for it throughout his childhood and adolescence, but to find out it was still true did not seem to rekindle that feeling. 

He realized that part of becoming an adult was to learn to accept certain things, like the unfairness of life, the indifferent passing of time, and the reality that people were not perfect. If you could not take them as they were, you should just walk away, because they would not change.

Apparently, Steven and Serena, like Albus Dumbledore, Filius Flitwick, and Minerva McGonagall found enough redeeming qualities in Severus Snape to accept the less attractive aspect of his nature, and Harry started to recognize that he probably did also.

Snape interrupted his thoughts. “She had made you swallow her tale with her smooth rhetoric and her pretty pictures, hadn’t she?” he asked.

“Hook, line and sinker,” answered Harry honestly. “It was terrifying. I am glad you said something. It was like waking up from a really bad dream.”

Snape looked surprised at his candor, but nodded, as if it confirmed something for him. “Thank you,” he said.

Steven Harper wanted to attend one more lecture that day, and he and Clarence left shortly thereafter. Romilda finished her cup of tea and asked Snape if he thought Serena would go anywhere before dinner. Since his answer was negative, she decided to go take a nap. Before she entered her room, however, she turned back to Snape.

“You know, sir,” she said, “there are not many women who enter the Aurors’ training, and out of the ones who do, a lot of them leave pretty fast. Some of the instructors don’t think this is a job for witches. They do everything they can to make us quit.” She smiled. “They never did impress me much, though. None of them ever even came close to your level of malice. I always thought I should thank you, if I ever got the chance, for being such a bastard at Hogwarts.”

“I did not do it for your benefit, Auror Vane. I did it because I enjoyed it.”

“Have you ever been known to have only one motivation for any of your actions?” she answered with a grin and closed her door.

“Cheeky chit,” said Snape with a smirk, as Harry burst out laughing. 

They spent the rest of the afternoon in easy and pleasant conversation, each of them interested in the other’s passions. Harry had remodeled and sold four houses in twelve years, starting with Grimmauld Place and Godric’s Hollow, and continuing from there once he found out how much he enjoyed it. Snape had discovered cross-country skiing during his vacations in New England and loved watching hockey, the only sport, in his opinion, that rivaled Quidditch in speed, violence and danger. They both loved Indian food and had both visited Japan.

Several times, Harry thought how much younger Snape looked now than he had twelve years ago. Maybe it was his eyes. They were not the flat black he recalled, but had depth, warmth. Maybe it was the new way he wore his hair, which highlighted his bone structure. They spoke again of the possibility that Harry might join the Hogwarts staff. 

They all had dinner together. The tension between Snape and his wife seemed to have completely disappeared, and Serena was lively and funny, telling entertaining campus stories. Harry could see how a person could find her attractive and did not like that much.

After dinner, Snape went to his room to practice his lecture, though both Steven and Serena insisted he was ready. Harry decided to go to bed early, but once alone in the room, found it impossible to fall asleep. The three scientists had been completely tight-lipped about the next day’s presentation, but it was obvious it was going to be momentous, and he could not help wonder what it would be about.

He recalled again how easily he had been taken in by Tamara Holter’s misinformation and was taken back to a time where he had so harshly judged people who shared her beliefs. She had been a complete stranger. How much easier to believe would her lies have been, coming from someone he trusted? He thought back to Malfoy, who had taken the Dark Mark at sixteen. He had thought him so blind, so gullible. He could not wait to tell Hermione about his eye-opening experience.

Though he had placed a Silencing Charm to cut down the noise of conversation from the living room, he finally went to sleep almost believing he could hear Snape’s deep, hypnotic voice through the partition.

 

_Severus entered his room with a sigh, thinking back on the day’s events. He had always despised the social aspect of the meetings. Through the years, he had learned to navigate the waters with assurance but had never developed a taste for it. He usually tried to avoid the entire bothersome duty completely but knew that, as the Keynote speaker, and for the good of his team, he had to be present._

_The first lecture had been a complete waste of his time. The scientific method evidently remained a stranger to the Scandinavian wizards. He was very pleased with Boniface’s lecture however. The young man was one of his former students, and he had taken him to task the previous year for his sloppy research. It was pleasing to see that he was now living up to his potential._

_Through it all, Severus had kept an eye on Potter. Had he actually counted on the man for his safety, he would have felt very confident. Potter was obviously experienced and conscientious, his state of awareness impressive. Severus had been pleasantly surprised and not a little impressed while speaking with him over lunch. Though security had seemed to be foremost on Potter’s mind, he had also managed to pay close attention to the lectures and get the essential points out of the material presented._

_Contrary to his assertions when Potter was his student, he was well aware the young man was intelligent, and it would have been essential that, as an Auror, he develop a critical and analytical mind. In view of their tumultuous past, that the young man had felt free to discuss the lectures with him had been rewarding._

_Potter had also admitted freely to being taken in by Tamara’s propaganda, which showed some courage. More than ever, Severus was glad he had overruled Serena’s wishes and demolished the girl’s pseudo-research in such a public manner. If someone as sharp as Potter could be taken in, it didn’t bode well for the average wizard._

_He wondered what Potter would feel, were he made aware of Severus’s high opinion of him. Probably nothing. After all, the man seemed self-assured and confident, beyond needing anyone’s approval._

_Severus would have very much liked to spend another evening in Potter’s company, but since everyone else was staying up, it did not seem meant to be. He decided to concentrate on his presentation instead. He felt quite ready, but wanted it to be flawless. He wondered what Potter would think of it. Severus halted this train of thought. Why in the world should that matter?_

 

The next day once again saw Snape and Harry swimming for an hour and all of them seating down to a convivial breakfast. The day’s schedule was tight, Snape planning to attend four lectures before giving his own.

As they had on the previous day, Snape and Harry ended up having lunch in the suite, this time with Harper and Hicks. While the other two mostly spoke Quidditch, of which Harper was very fond, Snape and Harry discussed that morning’s lectures. Harry was no longer hesitant in expressing his opinion. He did not feel a need to impress Snape, who seemed genuinely interested in his observations. 

One lecture in particular, having to do with applied Arithmancy, had gone right over his head. When Harry told him so, Snape explained the gist of it, in layman’s terms, rendering it quite interesting. 

There was a one o’clock presentation left for them to attend before Snape would go to his scheduled amphitheater and make the last preparations for his own lecture. Harry was glad he would have some time to check the room for security before the crowds arrived.

At three, Harry was quite sure he was far more nervous on Snape’s behalf than Snape himself was. Harry however was able to relax by concentrating on his job and trying to anticipate any problem that might occur. 

Attendees started arriving early, to secure their seats, as if everyone knew that this was the place to be. As Snape had predicted, by a quarter to four, it was standing room only. The media was present as well. Harry recognized the dark-bearded reporter from the day before, sitting in the front row.

Soon enough it was time, and Serena, Steven and Snape stood on the dais as the three Aurors gave the room a last once-over before joining them. While facing the crowd and searching for possible trouble in the rapt faces, Harry listened to Snape’s melodious deep tones, noticing again how much he enjoyed the sound of that voice, as Snape described their research.

Harry’s heart started beating faster as he realized the direction the lecture was taking, both anticipating yet disbelieving his dawning comprehension of their final goal. He could see the same excitement building in the expressions of the faces in front of him. And there it was.

Severus Snape, assisted by Serena Marcos and Steven Harper, had devised, created, and produced a potion that would allow male wizards to successfully become pregnant, carry, and give birth to children. 

The room exploded in voices, the noise level unbelievable as questions were thrown at them and people expressed their opinions on the matter at the top of their lungs.

Snape raised his hands, in an uncharacteristically patient request for silence, and it eventually returned.

“Please,” he said,” if you allow me to continue, I believe most of your questions will be answered.”

The room went absolutely silent as he proceeded with his presentation.

“Sixteen percent of male wizards are homosexuals. Because of the complete acceptance of male-to-male relationships in our world, this number is much higher than the nebulous three to six percent estimate in the repressive, intolerant Muggle world. Until today, it was practically impossible for this large portion of our population to have children, since there are practically no magical children to adopt and most women of child-bearing age are in heterosexual relationships.”

On the screen overhead, wizard photographs of happy male couples started to appear, all of them waving happily and showing off tiny babies who were smiling, crying, or soundly sleeping.

“Our clinical trials included thirty-eight homosexual couples. They were the thirty-eight couples that arrived at our facility in the first hour of the day we started accepting volunteers. None of the couples were screened in any way, and none were rejected. Thirty-two of them conceived within a month of one of the partners taking our daily potion. Four more couples conceived once the other partner took over using the potion.

“These thirty-six couples gave birth to thirty-nine babies, as two of the couples had twins, and one of the couples saw both partners eventually getting pregnant together and giving birth within days of each other.”

He gestured to the photos. “They are the really, really exhausted looking couple,” he deadpanned, setting off some laughter. 

“Thirty-four of the thirty-nine infants are females. That is slightly above eighty-seven percent.” He stopped for a few moments, as that information sank in.

“These are magical pregnancies, initiated, supported, and ended by magical means. The carriers do not develop any female characteristics, nor do they become hermaphrodites. The children are conceived though penetrative anal intercourse. The magical womb is created and sustained by the potion, and the infant is nourished by the magic of both its parents. 

“At the end of the pregnancy, both womb and infant leave the carrier’s body through a spontaneous process very much like Apparation, though it is preceded by intense and prolonged labor pains. 

“We do not know what would happen if the carrier was to cease ingesting the potion during pregnancy. We fear the womb would deteriorate, and the fetus would succumb, possibly causing its carrier injury or even death. 

“Finally, I have one last piece of information to share with you. Unknown to our research team, a young female graduate student, who had been unsuccessfully trying to have a child with her husband for six years, took it upon herself to try our potion. She revealed her condition when she was twelve weeks pregnant. Both the conception and the development of her child were in every way similar to that of our male carriers. She too gave birth, through magical means, to a little girl, two weeks ago. 

“Master Marcos and Master Harper will be starting clinical trials on female carriers unable to conceive through natural means in the next months and will present their results next year.

“We feel that through the use of this potion on male, and eventually possibly on female carriers, the wizarding population problem should be solved within the next ten years or less.” Snape nodded slightly and stepped back to rejoin Serena and Harper.

Clapping started at the back of the auditorium and progressed to the entire room rapidly, as people were getting to their feet to give the three Potion Masters a standing ovation.

Harry was scanning the crowd, searching faces and body language for possible trouble, but the enthusiasm seemed real and universal. As the reality of what he had just heard sank in, he felt an almost irrepressible need to join in with the celebration. 

It was wonderful news for the wizarding world at large, of course, but Harry’s heart was not beating an erratic tattoo for the world at large. Twelve years ago, when he had realized and embraced his sexual identity, he had given up on the dream of ever having a family of his own, a dream that had been so important to him he had almost chosen it over the reality of his orientation.

That dream could be his again. Someday, when the time was right, with the right man…

Harry forced himself to focus back on the task at end, scanning the crowd, watching the doors. Standing at the very back, looking stricken, was Tamara Holter. How they had managed to keep such seminal research a secret from their close associates, Harry had no idea, but he could tell from the young woman’s face that she had had no idea what had been coming. 

Snape had qualified it as independent research, but surely someone in their department, someone in the University must have known. How else would they have gotten volunteers? Where else could the trials have taken place?

As the commotion diminished and people started sitting back down, the Q and A session started. Chairs were brought onto the dais and they all sat down. Harry could tell it was going to be a long afternoon.

 

 _Potter was gay! Severus was completely sure of it. He had glanced at the young man after his presentation, and had immediately recognized the look on his face. He had after all seen that look on the faces of each and every one of the candidates in his research project. Hope. Potter, like all these other men, had given up the idea of a family to follow his inclination, and now that the possibility was back, hope was written all over his features. Potter was gay. He was at the most important juncture of his career, uncovering his incredible achievement to the wizarding world, and felt deep satisfaction in that. But at this moment, his sharpest feeling of pleasure came from a much less heralded discovery. Potter was gay. He turned his attention back to the Q and A session, feeling absolutely buoyant._

 

They did not get back to the suite until almost eight o’clock and found the table laid for a lavish celebratory dinner, to which the three Aurors were gracefully included. Steven Harper, who had had the foresight to plan it, started the festivities by popping open a bottle of Moet et Chandon and toasting his friends and colleagues. 

He reminded them of a dinner, nearly ten years prior, when the three of them had celebrated Snape’s tenure and when the idea of the Male Pregnancy Potion had been jokingly proposed. It would be a means for both him and Serena to finally obtain the same recognition without their efforts being appropriated by the dominating Master Holter, who saw any creation of his underlings as his own private property. 

“Yes, Serena, you should always remember that this whole endeavor was your idea,” said Snape seriously.

Serena laughed. “No, Severus. I’d said it in jest. The most ridiculous and farfetched use for a potion that I could think of. It was you who thought that the only limit to a potioneer’s ability is his or her own imagination; you who saw my joke as a feasible notion and ran with it. We were just along for the ride.”

“And what a ride it’s been!” sighed Steven, happily.

Serena looked at Snape seriously. “I am not sure, sometimes, if you fully realize how many lives you will touch with that potion.” She waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Yes, people before unable to bear children will now do so, but…” Then she reached for his hand. “I, for one, would like to thank you in the name of all the young women in our world who would choose to love other women but have to yield to our society’s pressure to marry and bear children for the greater good of wizardkind, or live as pariahs. Now they may finally have the same freedom as their male counterpart; to love where their hearts will, and not where they must.” There were tears in her eyes as she smiled at him.

“Wow,” said Romilda, “I must say I hadn’t thought of that.” She too smiled at Snape. “But I can thank you for myself and all the other women like me, who have worked hard for their careers but are expected by everyone to just give them up and start producing babies the first chance they get. Clarence and I talked about this. I am twenty-eight. We agreed that we would not even try having babies for five years, but we have only been married six weeks and already the pressure is on, even innocently and from the most unexpected quarters. People I don’t even know feel it’s perfectly okay to remind me of my ‘real’ duty. It’s unbelievable.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Ginny talks about that all the time. She is twenty-eight too and probably the best Chaser in the league, and yet she is constantly told that she is wasting her life because she‘s been married ten years and still has no kids.” 

“Well, Severus, I guess that leaves me to thank you for all the single straight men out there,” said Steven Harper. He continued wistfully, “I was always shy and well, not a hunk, you know. A late bloomer I guess. By the time I finished graduate school and started thinking of a wife and kids, it was too late. I did not know one woman who was not married.” He patted Serena’s hand. “Well, except for you of course, my dear, but we both know I wasn’t your type, and I am not referring to Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary over there.” All three Potions Masters chuckled at that.

“I’ll probably be single for the rest of my life. Fifty-seven percent. That was the number the year I was born, and just my luck, I was never attracted to men. There are quite a few of us out there, you know, but hopefully, thanks to you, we are the last of our kind.”

Snape refilled his champagne glass. “ A better man would be embarrassed by now, basking in all this gratitude.” He smirked. “But you all know I am not he, so please feel free to continue with the adulation. I am quite at leisure. Potter? Any personal testimony you would like to lay at my altar?”

Snape's stare was very direct and reminded Harry of his disquieting gift at Legilimency. Did Snape know he was gay? It certainly wasn’t a secret, but Snape had been out of touch for a long time. A private man, Harry skirted the issue.

“I can think of two of my closest friends who will be beside themselves tomorrow when they read the Prophet. George Weasley and Neville Longbottom,” he added for the benefit of Clarence, who had met them but might not have made the connection. 

“I have seen the look in their eyes every time there is a new baby in the family. They love their nieces and nephews to death, but I know, I know they will be the first in line for this potion.” 

He grinned at Snape. “And of course Molly and Augusta will be nominating you for sainthood, or at least for an Order of Merlin, First Class.” He explained to the rest of them: “The Longbottoms are pure-bloods, and Neville is the last of his line. And George’s twin, Fred, was killed in the war.” He looked again at Snape. “It will not bring him back, of course, but in Molly’s heart, it will mean something.”

Snape straightened up in his chair, put down his glass, and said: “Potter, you have done it. My cup runneth over. Enough is enough. Let’s eat!” At his words, the plates on the table filled with great food, much as they did at Hogwarts for the feasts. 

The meal was a joyful affair, but Harry was distracted. A child. A family. Though the possibility was still nebulous, he couldn’t help but think about it. Would he want the life of an Auror, with its endless hours, its dangers and its constant exposure to the seediest side of the wizarding world if he were to become a father? Ron did it. But would he want to? 

He had not even dated in months… Well… in two years, give or take a week or two. It had started to seem so pointless. It was easy for him to get a date. What hot-blooded gay male did not want a one-off with Harry Potter? But a true relationship, like that of George and Neville, had always seemed out of his reach. 

After the initial excitement at being celebrities by proxy, his fame became too much for most men to handle; the nightmares he still had occasionally too emotionally draining. And the job had been no help. It took precedence over one’s personal life, and his few boyfriends had gotten sick of coming second to it. Disliking the morose turn his thoughts had taken, he forced himself to return to the moment and to rejoin the conversation.

When dessert appeared, it was a sinfully rich chocolate cake. Harry was amused to note that Snape obviously enjoyed each dark forkful. After a few minutes, however, Harry was forced to look away, as Snape’s sensuous rapture over each and every bite was having a most interesting yet inconvenient effect on a certain part of his anatomy. Evidently, two years without a date was much, much too long.

Around ten o’clock, both Serena and Steven decided to head for their beds. It had been a long, exciting day and there was a concluding brunch to attend in the morning (that Snape tried to get out of, saying his job was done, but was unsuccessful). The Portkey back to San Francisco was set for the early afternoon.

The realization that Snape would be gone the next day, though it was in no way a surprise, upset Harry much more than was reasonable. So much so that Clarence and Romilda had to say good night to him twice to get his full attention, before also reminding him to wake Romilda at one for her to take the next shift.

After they left, Harry sat in his usual chair, a cup of coffee at his left hand, staring into the fire. He had enjoyed the time he had spent with Severus Snape tremendously, from their morning swim (and shower, even if he did try to avert his eyes and was successful most of the time…) to their talkative lunches and their stimulating evening conversations. 

He hated for that time to come to an end and wasn’t sure what to make of it or what to do about it. If only there had been more time. Merlin. The man was married. What the hell was Harry thinking? He kicked himself mentally for forgetting so easily that the man was straight. Where was his brain? (Well, said a little voice…)

“Potter? Are you feeling all right?” He realized Snape had sat in the other chair by the fire and was looking at him. “You have been uncharacteristically quiet this evening.”

Harry brought himself back to the moment. This was his last evening with Snape. He might as well enjoy it.

“I’m fine. Just a bit distracted, sorry.” He smiled at Snape. “You must be feeling pretty good right now.”

“Yes. I have achieved a goal for which I have worked for a very long time.”

“It is a great discovery,” said Harry, conscious he was stating the obvious.

“It is but a means to an end,” answered Snape.

“For your colleagues’ tenure?” That seemed insignificant to Harry somehow, given the scope of the achievement.

“Well, their achieving tenure was Serena and Steven’s original goal, not mine.”

Harry looked at him questioningly.

“When I left England, twelve years ago,” Snape explained, “my name was sullied. My reputation was, well, notorious, I suppose, but for the wrong reasons, most of them unsavory. I promised myself that one day, I would return, having achieved enough to erase conclusively the memories of the past.” 

He looked at Harry and clarified. “Though I appreciated your… testimony at my trial, as well as the posthumous defense given to me by Albus, I wanted my accomplishments to reclaim my name, so that my freedom, my reputation would depend on no one but myself.” 

“I would say you have achieved that. You can leave tomorrow with your head held high,” agreed Harry.

Snape leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, looking at Harry with intent. “I will not be leaving tomorrow, Potter. I have returned to Great Britain to stay.”

Why Harry’s heart would suddenly start pounding in his chest was inexplicable, really.

“But your wife…”said Harry, hating the way his voice had sounded on these words.

“Were you so distracted tonight as to miss the obvious, Potter?”

Harry wisely chose not to attempt a response.

“I went to California twelve years ago, having accepted the offer of a three month fellowship. The United States immigration laws for wizards are just as stringent as they are for Muggles. In order to remain in that country beyond my three-month visa, I found it expedient to marry a close acquaintance whose career had been stalled by the suspicion that she was a practicing lesbian. 

“My wife has a very close friend, a charming woman named Olivia, an extremely talented artist. Olivia resides in an upstairs apartment in our conjugal home. That is where she has her studio, as well. Do you understand now, Potter?”

Harry felt like an imbecile. All the clues had been laid out for him to piece together, and yet he had remained oblivious.

“I was never bothered by our peculiar arrangement,” Snape added, “because unlike to Steven Harper, it matters not at all to me that I am not my wife’s type, since she unquestionably is not mine either…”

Snape’s eyes were dark, almost black. In school they had always appeared flat, closed. But tonight Snape’s eyes were pools in which Harry could have easily drowned. He looked away, overwhelmed. The flames were dancing in the fireplace.

Snape was not leaving.

Snape was gay. 

He felt relief, trepidation, excitement, and not a small amount of fear. Snape was not a man to be trifled with nor was he an easy man to understand. He was vicious, cruel, vindictive, frighteningly intelligent, and ruthless. He was also courageous, fiercely loyal, determined, and, Harry had discovered to his amazement, desirable. 

Though he had just given the wizarding world an amazing gift, to him it had been a means to an end. (“Have you ever been known me to have only one motivation for any of my actions?”) Snape was the most complex person he knew. Slightly overwhelmed, Harry’s reeling mind fell back to practicalities.

“You sold Spinner’s End,” Harry said. “Where will you go?”

“I have considerable options. I will lodge here two more days while I finalize my arrangements.” Snape put down his coffee cup.

“I shall bid you good night, Auror Potter. I apologize for leaving you without company during your nightly turn at insuring our protection, but I find I am craving some rest after today’s rather thrilling developments.”

“Believe me, I understand,” Harry answered, meaning every word.

“Shall you make use of the swimming facilities again in the morning?”

“Definitively.”

“Excellent. I will see you then.”

Harry found he was happy to have some time to himself. He felt his life was on a cusp of change and had a lot to think about. His job. His love life (or lack thereof). The possibility of fatherhood. Hogwarts. And now, on top of everything else, the reappearance of Severus Snape. Who was here to stay. Who was gay.

By the time he went to wake Romilda so he could get some rest, he had made one decision and contemplated his other options in life enough to feel he was no longer wading some labyrinth aimlessly in the dark. As for Snape, he would treat him very much as he had some other dangerous creature he had once met in a dark labyrinth: warily. 

They were in the elevator on the way to their workout when Harry mentioned: “I’ve decided to accept Minerva’s offer.“

Snape looked at Harry’s reflection in the door.

“You seem pleased with your decision.”

“I am. It feels right. I will give my resignation when I go back on Monday. What about you? You are staying in Britain, but what will you do?”

When Snape did not answer him right away, Harry looked up into the mirror-like surface of the elevator door and met his eyes. He was surprised to find a shadow of doubt in the usually self-assured gaze, as if Snape was hesitating as to his next words. 

The doors of the elevator started to open on the pool floor and a curse came hurtling at them from the back of the atrium, effectively removing all thoughts of his question and of Snape’s apparent reluctance to answer from Harry’s mind.

Because he had been an Auror for nine years, the speed at which he moved in front of Snape and the strength of his protective shield were astonishing. Snape had lived in the rarefied environment of Academia for just as long, and yet, his own shield work would have appeared just as swift to a casual observer. Before the doors were fully opened, a double dome of shimmering light protected them.

In the state of hyperawareness that always seemed to take over when he was under attack, and even while he was casting _Petrificus_ , Harry saw the progression of the incoming curse from the edge of his vision, reflected by the mirrored surface of the elevator walls, as if in slow motion.

The brilliant blue beam of light penetrated their shields as if they did not exist, passing right through his chest, then through Snape’s, then through the shields at their back before disappearing into the wall. The air inside their protective bubble seemed to fill with a blue vapor for a brief moment. The wizard who had cast the curse had not yet hit the floor from Harry’s spell and Snape’s _Stupefy,_ than the strange blue fog had already dissipated, even before Harry could think to end his _Protego_.

They moved out of the elevator together and approached the fallen man.

“What the hell was that?” asked Harry.

“I have no idea.” Snape’s answer was calm but puzzled.

“Are you all right?” 

“I think so. You?”

Harry thought about it for a second. He felt perfectly normal.

“Fine. I have no idea what just happened.”

The door to the staircase opened, and Clarence and Romilda appeared, wand at the ready, barely out of breath despite running up six flights of stairs. The Aurors’ wands were synchronized when they were on assignment together, and they had been alerted to the situation as soon as Harry had cast his shield.

Seeing Snape and Harry obviously uninjured, they relaxed their poses, and joined them looking down at the immobilized man.

“His name is Anton Albright,” said Snape. “He worked as a nurse at the medical facility where the children were born.” He did not look surprised.

“What happened?” asked Clarence.

“He hit us with a spell when the elevator door opened,” replied Harry.

“What spell was it?” asked Romilda. 

“No idea, but it went right through our shields.” 

“It did?” Romilda started running a diagnostic spell over Harry with her wand.

“I’m fine, Romilda. I don’t think it did any harm.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Harry, it could have removed your bits for all you know. Let me finish.”

Harry would have smiled at seeing Snape discreetly run his hand over his crotch had he not felt the sudden urge to do so himself.

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with you,” she said to Harry’s relief, before starting the same diagnostic spell on Snape. “At least nothing that wasn’t already wrong with you before,” she added teasingly. 

“You’re fine too, Professor.” He nodded in appreciation, not correcting her mistake in honorific. “Do you think the two of you should go to St. Mungo’s anyway?”

“I think not,” said Snape. “I don’t want any more made of this incident than absolutely necessary.

“Is he the man who threatened your lives?”

“Yes, most probably. We suspected him from the start, as he was one of the few people to have access to the area where he left the death threats. But we had no proof. There were two friends of his, who worked as orderlies in our facility, who could also have been responsible."

“But why? Why would anyone be unhappy with your research?” asked Romilda. 

“He was Muggle-born, and his parents belonged to a small Fundamental Christian sect. Though they rejected him as a spawn of Satan, he did not fully abandon their beliefs. In his eyes, homosexuality is a grave sin. Giving the ability of carrying children to homosexual males is the ultimate perversion of God’s will.”

“You talked to him about it?” surmised Harry.

“Serena did. She thought if she heard his grievance… But you cannot change people’s core fanatical beliefs through kindness. I was afraid something like this would happen even though the FBMI did not take the matter too seriously.” He looked up at Harry.

“They should be contacted. His friends should probably be questioned. He has recruited them to his church. I do not think they are as fanatical, but if we make a martyr out of him…” 

Four hit-wizards had arrived on the scene. They took custody of the prisoner and requested that Harry accompany them to make a report. Snape decided to forgo his swim and rejoin his American colleagues in their suite.

“I won’t be long,” said Harry to Clarence on his way out. “I will see you all in an hour.”

 

_Severus was relieved. The attack he had expected had come, apparently without nefarious consequences. Serena and Steven were now safe._

_The speed and strength of Potter’s reaction, when they both had been somewhat distracted, was nothing short of impressive. Seemingly without a thought, Potter had stepped in front of him, ready to risk his life to save Severus’s. How extraordinary. Severus was immensely relieved the curse used by Anton had been ineffective. He would have never forgiven himself if something had happened to Potter._

_He had enough self-knowledge to recognize that he was at least as upset with Anton for ruining his and Potter’s swim as he was for him cursing them. He chuckled in self-deprecating humor._

 

Harry’s report was straightforward and he left the memory of the morning’s event into the Evidence Pensieve for transcription and verification. He was back in time to walk with them to the closing brunch. Now that the attack had actually occurred, he was quite certain that Snape and his colleagues were safe, but it was his duty to continue his protection until he saw them to their Portkey at 1:00pm.

He could see why Snape had been reluctant to attend. It was mayhem, and Snape was at the center of it, pressed from all sides from genuine well-wishers, hangers-on and the representative of the media. Snape however adroitly redirected most of the attention to Steven Harper, who truly had a gift for public relations, and he himself only stayed a short while, letting his wife and colleague play the political game.

He and Harry were back in the suite by eleven o’clock, where Snape poured himself a generous snifter of brandy and sat down with a very relieved sigh.

“I have always hated the media circus, but I must admit today I found it particularly trying. How do you put up with it, Potter?”

“I hate it. Always have. I avoid reporters like the plague,” said Harry. “Thankfully, these past few years they have started to forget me. It was much worse after the war.”

“And that remarkably powerful _Notice-me-not_ charm you like to cast on yourself has nothing to do with that?”

Harry chuckled, a little embarrassed. “You spotted that, did you? I can usually project it only to the desired recipients. Most people are not aware that I use one."

Snape smirked. “I am not complaining. You may have noticed I stayed close to you in there. I believe it probably helped me make good on my escape.”

“Always happy to be of service,” joked Harry.

“But not for much longer.”

“No, our security detail will end at one p.m. when your colleagues leave for the States.”  
“Indeed. But I was referring to the end of your career as an Auror.”

“Oh. Yes, that too, I guess.“ He was quiet for a minute and then admitted with a smile, “I can hardly wait. I did not realize how much this job was wearing me down until I made the decision to quit. It has been a good nine years, but I am glad it’s over.” 

He relaxed to the back of his chair. “I am really looking forward to telling Minerva. And Teddy.” He realized he was behaving like an excited six-year-old when he looked up to see the amusement on Snape’s face, but could not be bothered to care.

“You’ve obviously made the right decision,” Snape commented, not unkindly. 

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the rest of their company, all of them in high spirits. 

The Potions Masters were returning home in glory, and the Aurors would be off duty until Monday morning; the three and a half day weekend was a rare treat indeed.

Except for Snape, they all went to their rooms to pack their belongings, and Clarence restored the king size bed they had originally transfigured to its original state.

“Please come back with me, Severus, just for a while. You know there are bound to be awkward questions.” Harry stepped back into their room as to not interrupt what appeared to be a tense conversation between Snape and Serena.

“I have put your name on a scientific paper that represents one of the greatest achievements the wizarding world has known this last century,” was Snape sneering retort. “It will earn you your bloody tenure and scholarly recognition to boot. I have more than adequately satisfied my end of our understanding. It is remarkably selfish, not to mention appallingly cowardly of you, to make this request of me and put me in the disagreeable position to have to refuse you. Grow a backbone, Serena. This parody of wedlock has gone on long enough. Give Olivia the recognition she deserves as your true companion for all these years, if for no other reason than all the sacrifices she has made for your precious career!”

There was a moment of silence; then Serena answered, “You are absolutely right, of course. I know how much you have yearned to return to Britain, how long you have waited for this. My apologies. Let’s not argue. We have been friends too long.”

“Indeed. I will see you to your Portkey.”

Harry stepped back into the living room, followed by his two colleagues, and they all made their way to the elevator. Harry felt suddenly irritated with the Muggle contraption. 

He understood of course that the hotel had far too many guests for them to all be able to Apparate within its walls without risking two wizards trying to materialize in the same spot at the same time, but somehow it rankled to have to stand passively in that glorified matchbox.

He sighed with relief when they arrived downstairs and took great pleasure at feeling his Auror robes floating around him on his way to the Americans' Portkey. He was surprised at this sudden hint of wizard pride.

The three Aurors bade the travelers good-bye and made way for Snape. He saluted his friends and colleagues with a nod. Both Serena and Steven smiled at him. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I will miss you.” Snape suddenly stepped forward and enveloped her in a warm hug. The look on her face was that of absolute shocked disbelief, underlined with pleasure.

When Snape followed with a warm hug to Steven, the American actually laughed and said, ”Severus, I did not know you had it in you!” 

Snape let go of him, and stepping back, admitted, sounding a little mortified, ”Neither did I.” 

Steven smiled his beaming smile at him. ”It was welcome, nonetheless.” But it seemed the moment had passed, and Snape had now recovered his usual cool demeanor.

The Portkey glowed, and Serena and Steven precipitously took hold, lest they miss it, and then they were gone.

Snape turned to his escort. “Well, your duty is at an end. I will bid you good-bye and return to my rooms.”

“What?” said Romilda, “No hugs?”

Snape’s glare would have cowed anyone who had not spent many years as his student. “A temporary leave of my senses,” he said. “One never to be repeated, I assure you.”

Romilda smiled at him, and said, “Good-bye, Master Snape.”

Clarence gave him a slight bow, and they both walked to the Hotel’s front door.

Harry and Snape stood together, watching them go.

“Your company has not been entirely disagreeable, Auror Potter,” said Snape.

“Nor has yours,” answered Harry.

“Please convey my high regard to Minerva,” added Snape.

“I shall.”

“Perhaps…” started Snape.

Harry looked at him questioningly, wondering what the Potions Master was trying to say (amazed as his own apparently newly acquired self-control in not letting his own imagination (or his mouth) run away from him). 

“Perhaps we shall meet again.” 

It was obvious to both of them that this had not been what he had first intended to say, but Harry felt as relieved for the reprieve as Snape looked.

“Doubtless,” answered Harry, once again surprised at his own restraint. And then he was through the Hotel doors and walking down the street, wondering what had happened to the bold Gryffindor who had never failed to send him treading where lesser men feared before, and feeling quite put out.

 

_Severus returned to the suite feeling unusually unsettled. Spontaneity was not part of his vocabulary, and yet it seemed to have taken over his brain. He had hugged (hugged!) his former associates, an American custom he had always despised, and he had been moments from inviting Potter to dinner for no other reason than the fact that he felt like it._

_His lack of forethought of the possible interpretation of such an invitation on Potter’s part, as well as its possible consequences for their future association was completely uncharacteristic. He had caught himself just in time, but part of him had actually wished he had gone ahead._

_Could he be more overwrought by the events of the past few days than he had been aware of? He did feel physically tired, more so than would be expected. Perhaps the most reasonable course of action at this time would be to allow his body and mind the extra rest they seem to crave. Anything would be better than this unnatural artlessness._

 

The hotel was in Theatric Alley and a short walk to Harry’s house on Diagon. Narrow and crooked, it stood between another house (just as narrow and crooked) and Ollivanders. He had never lived on Grimmauld place or in Godric’s Hollow. As soon as he could, he had bought this home, here on the street where his magical life had started. 

He entered, yelling a greeting to Kreacher, letting the old elf know he was back. Aside for being slightly hard of hearing, his old friend was just as spry and hardworking as ever. Because of both their natures, however, their relationship had lost most of its formality.

“Kreacher’s down here ironing,” the elf responded from the laundry. “Does Master need tea or something?”

“No! I’m fine. I’m going up for a nap. Don’t wake me!”

The ground floor held a tiny library and study off of the entryway. The first floor had a living room with a dining area, and the second, Harry’s bedroom and a small nursery he used as a walk-in closet. Above that were Kreacher’s quarters. As in most old London houses, the kitchen and laundry were in the basement.

Though he never slept much more than five or six hours a night, he felt completely exhausted. Since he had the day off he had decided to indulge, and after taking off his Auror’s belts and robes as well as his lace-up boots, he lay down on his sofa under the quilt Hermione had made for him last Christmas. He was asleep immediately.

He was shocked to wake up in darkness. Turning on the light, he saw on the mantle clock that it was a quarter past seven. He had napped for six hours! Unbelievable. He remembered asking Kreacher not to wake him but was surprised he had not heard the old elf as he left for his weekly night off. 

Hermione had convinced both of them that it was a good idea. Kreacher left on Thursday around five and did not usually return until Friday at approximately the same time. He went to Hogwarts for his ‘leisure,’ as he called it, where Harry suspected he worked the entire time. But it had gotten Hermione off their backs, and that was a good thing. 

Harry decided he could not be bothered to cook dinner, but felt he needed a wash before presenting himself in public.

The thought of getting his ears wet in a shower was, for some unknown reason, extremely unpleasant, so he filled up the tub. He vaguely looked in his cupboard for bath salts or bath oil he knew he didn’t own and got in the water to his neck. The water was too cool for his taste, so he quickly soaped up, rinsed off, and got out. After that less than satisfactory bathing experience, he went to get dressed for his evening out.

In his closet, he chose black jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black cashmere turtleneck. He stood disgruntled in front of his underwear drawer for a while. Whatever had possessed him to purchase boxers in such ludicrous prints? Yellow smiley faces, red lips, Snitches, red polka dots… Inane. Near the bottom, he found a pair of black silk ones and slipped them on with relief.

He owned a set of black robes. He had bought them in an emergency, to go to Frank Longbottom’s funeral. The only ones available off the rack had been dress robes of Zabini design, beautifully cut, of wool and silk blend, and ridiculously expensive. He had never worn them since, and wasn’t that silly? They were beautiful.

He checked himself in the hallway mirror on the way out. He was pleased with what he saw and thought that perhaps he might go out after dinner. His hair was remarkably well-behaved. Maybe it would behoove him to forgo washing it more often. 

Diagon Alley was noticeably quiet for all it being a quarter past eight. A few harassed-looking wizards were walking purposefully, a strange change from the usual aimless wandering of the evening crowd. 

Harry was standing in front of the newsagent when he noticed the pink glow of the sky to the east. Disbelieving, he checked the date on the Daily Prophet. Friday. It was not Thursday evening, but Friday morning. He had not napped for six hours, but slept the sleep of the dead for eighteen. Inconceivable (though it explained why he was starving). What in the world was happening to him?

He needed breakfast. There was no point in trying to think on an empty stomach. A few restaurants offered morning fare in the alley, but what he really craved were those perfect poached eggs from the breakfasts at the Hotel. He had not actually eaten them, Snape had, but they did sound good right now. The restaurant was expensive, but so what? Poached eggs and dry toast there wouldn’t cost any more than the full English he would ordinarily get at Wilkins’s pub.

He indeed enjoyed his breakfast very much, though usually just the sight of running yolks would have made him shudder. He had no plans for the day and stopped at Flourish and Blotts on the way back, spending an inordinate amount of time in the more esoteric sections.

He was pleased to find a book that had been positively mentioned at the convention. It was about pluralistic charms, not a subject he was overly familiar with, but it seemed interesting.

He made a small detour by Slug and Jiggers, the large apothecary. He really did not need anything there, just liked the smell of all the exotic ingredients. By the time he returned to his house, it was eleven, and he was spent. He lit a fire and sat in front of it with his new book and a cup of plain tea. 

The subject matter turned out to be quite fascinating, yet several times, he found his eyelids closing. He got up to stretch and started to search around the room. He went up the stairs and looked in his bedroom, and then made his way to the library before he realized he had no idea _what_ he was looking for.

It was a strange sensation. He analyzed his feelings more closely. He felt as if he had been interrupted by a Floo-call in the middle of the last chapter of a detective novel, only to realize after saying good-bye that he did not remember where he had put down his book. His search, for he knew not what, had that kind of focused, urgent quality.

Had he left something of importance at the hotel? He quickly went through his unpacked bag, and as far as he could tell, all was accounted for. And yet, he felt some strange pull to return to the Merryweather and search his room. It was unsettling and ridiculous.

He forced himself to sit down again but was unable to concentrate as his anxiety grew. He had to ask himself: was he just looking for an excuse to go and see Snape?

He had decided the night before (well, actually two nights ago…) that any relationship with Snape would have to wait until he had settled into his new life, and put some distance between them to analyze his feelings towards the man with a cool head. He still felt that this was the best approach. Yet the need to get up and go to the hotel right now was almost irresistible.

He skipped lunch. The thought of forcing food in his knotted stomach was nauseating. He started pacing back and forth in his living room, stopping a few times to check under the couch’s cushions, open a random cabinet, searching, but for what?

Finally, by three in the afternoon, the urge to leave was just too great. He threw his beautiful black robes back on and headed out in the direction of Theatric Alley for the second time that day. Once in the lobby of the Merryweather Hotel, he wondered. How would he explain himself to Snape? Would his visit be taken as some sort of a come-on? Suddenly, he could not be arsed to care, and against hotel regulation (and with quite a bit of disregard for his own safety), he Apparated to Snape’s door and knocked.

An extremely disheveled Snape opened the door. He had obviously been asleep but a short while before and was wearing nothing but black pajama bottoms and a white undershirt.

He let Harry in without a word and went to sprawl on the nearby couch. Harry followed and sat a little more formally on the nearby chair. Snape looked at him with an expression that might have been a smile, had the man not been Snape.

“I am so relieved to see you,” he said, expressing fairly perfectly what Harry was feeling.

Snape ran his hand through his hair in a gesture that, though it was unusual to see Snape do it, felt somehow familiar to Harry.

“This is weird,” continued Snape. “I mean, I find you very attractive, and I have enjoyed your company, but not to the point where I should be … pining for you.” Snape covered his face. “But it is not so weird as me just blurting that out. What the hell is happening to me?”

“Do not be overly concerned about what you might view as an indiscretion. I harbor very similar sentiments and will not hold your expression of them against you,” answered Harry. “I have been feeling highly unsettled myself and acting rather peculiarly. I can find no logical explanation for my strong desire to return to this suite either.”

“Do you sleep all the time?” Once again, Snape ran his hand through his hair in that familiar gesture.

“I have been uncharacteristically prone to slumber, yes,” agreed Harry.

“It’s that damn curse, it has to be.”

Harry was profoundly annoyed at himself. He was the Auror. Why had he not immediately made the connection? Of course, this entire situation must be the result of the unknown curse.

“We should go to St Mungo’s and have ourselves examined,” said Snape.

“For magic’s sake,” snapped Harry, “use your celebrated brain and show a little foresight. What could be more fodder for media gossip than ‘The Man Who Killed Voldemort’ and ‘The Genius Who Saved The Magical World’ to present themselves together to the Curse Injury ward?”

“The genius who saved the magical world?” repeated Snape.

“That’s what they were calling you in this morning’s Prophet, but do you think you could be bothered to forget your newly found fame for a moment and concentrate on the problem at hand?”

“Sorry. It’s just such a stupid nickname. Who makes these up anyway?”

“Snape! Has your desire for recognition completely erased your good sense? Focus in Merlin’s name!” Harry could have hexed the silly man. Did he not understand their predicament? His own mind was reviewing the possibilities and almost instantly came up with the perfect solution.

“I shall contact Bill Weasley. He has founded a small but excellent curse breaking business. Not only is he an outstanding curse breaker, but he can also be counted on to be discreet. Has your Floo been returned to the network?”

“Yes, it has, but shouldn’t we think this through? I mean…”

“I have. So unless your brilliant mind has produced a more elegant solution, I will proceed.”

“Whatever,” said Snape, sitting down and looking peeved. “It’s a great idea: you just don’t have to be such a git about it.”

“Why, Master Snape, thank you for that ringing endorsement.” 

Harry approached the fireplace, threw some Floo powder in it, and called out: “BFV curse breaking, Bill Weasley’s office”

“Yes?”

Harry knelt and thrust his head in the flames.

“Bill, it’s Harry. Are you busy? I have a bit of an emergency, here.”

“No, just paperwork today. Is it Aurors’ business?”

“No, personal. Would you mind stepping through?”

Harry backed away, the fire flared higher, and Bill Weasley stepped in. His red hair was still pulled back in a ponytail, and despite the scars on his face, he was very attractive, in a roguish style.

“Good grief, Harry, did someone die?”

Harry was confused. “No, nothing so tragic, why?”

“Well, the way you are dressed…”

There was a laugh from the couch. “Yes, Potter, have you been raiding my closet? Not that it doesn’t look good on you, quite the opposite…”

Bill’s eyes were as round as marbles. “Professor Snape?”

“Mr. Weasley. How are you?”

“Huh… Fine. It’s good to see you, sir.”

Snape sat up in the couch. 

“Well, Potter, if you are determined to bring in guests, I will take a moment and make myself presentable, shall I?”

Harry suddenly realized Snape was still in his pajamas and that he had just invited Bill to the man’s suite without as much as a by your leave.

“Oh, right. Sorry about that, I might have gotten carried away…”

“No matter,” said Snape, running his hands over his face. As you pointed out, neither of us is at our best, this morning. Afternoon. Whatever.” 

He got up and walked towards his room. “Why don’t you brief our good Mr.Weasley on what’s been happening while I do my ablutions?”

“Wouldn’t you rather I wait…”

Snape turned back and looked at him tiredly. “You are an Auror, Potter, I am sure you can be trusted with a simple report?”

“Right. Will do. Take your time.”

Snape waved a dismissive hand above his shoulder and disappeared in his room.

“Wow,” said Bill, “he seemed different!”

“Not exactly. It’s an interesting story. Please have a seat. Would you care for some tea?”

It took Harry no time at all to go over the actual facts to explain his presence at Snape’s side during the conference and the manner in which they had been cursed, repeating almost verbatim what he remembered reporting to the Hit-Wizards. His actual memory of the event was no longer in his mind but in the evidence locker. It took him longer to explain the subtle symptoms that had led Snape (he gave him full credit) to suspect that their unusual behavior might be tied to the curse.

“There were no physical effects at all?”

“No. We were both scanned by a diagnostic spell. We are physically fine.”

“Do you mind if I repeat it?”

“No, of course not.” Harry noticed his glasses had slid almost to the tip of his nose and gave them an annoyed shove up. He wondered if he had somehow stretched the earpieces. He had never noticed them sliding down before.

Bill ran his wand over Harry in a diagnostic spell very similar to the one Romilda had used, this one however concentrating more on his head.

“You’re right. There is nothing wrong with you physically.” Bill sat down again, just as Snape emerged from his room. He was barefoot, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. _Blue_ jeans. And a _turquoise_ t-shirt.

Harry and Bill stared. Harry vainly tried not to notice how fine Snape’s ass looked in the tight trousers.

Snape looked down at himself and laughed. “I transfigured them. “ He looked up again. “I just didn’t feel like wearing black. How weird is that?”

Bill looked worriedly from Snape to Harry, and back again.

“Professor, what’s the composition of the _Revelatio Temporam_ Potion?” he asked.

“Water based. Dust, essence of thyme, bitumen, vanilla, camphor. Why?”

“It’s a potion I use in my work to date old artifacts,” Bill explained to Harry. “I was pretty sure you wouldn’t be familiar with it.”

“Well, you were right, but…”

“Harry, who is the Seeker for the Chudley Cannons?”

“Karen McNeil.”

“Right in one.” Somehow, Bill seemed a bit less tense. He continued, ”Harry, what have you done today since you woke up?”

“Took a bath, dressed, ate breakfast here at the hotel…”

“You slept here last night?”

“No, I returned here from my own home for breakfast this morning. I felt an irresistible craving for the restaurant’s perfectly cooked poached eggs.”

“Hum… And then?”

“I made a stop to Flourish and Blotts, stayed there for some time, perusing their Esoteric Magic shelves; purchased a tome on pluralistic charms I was eager to read; returned to… no wait. First I went into Slug and Jiggers, then I turned homeward…”

“What did you need at the apothecary?”

“Huh… Nothing.” He realized some explanation was expected. “ I just like the smell?”

“O-K… Then you went home and?”

“And I sat down to read in front of the fire until I started feeling as if I’d lost something, as if I was missing something. This disquieting feeling did not cease until I arrived here and saw Snape.”

Bill Weasley nodded, as if he had learned something useful. “Professor, what has your day been like?”

“You bought that book on pluralistic charms?” Snape asked Harry, “How is it?”

“Quite fascinating, the…”

Bill interrupted him.

“Harry, I really need for Professor Snape to tell me about his day.”

“My apologies,” said Harry, at the same time as Snape was saying ”Sorry.”

“Professor?”

“Please call me Severus. I haven’t been your professor in almost thirty years, for heaven’s sake.” He brought his left hand to the bridge of his nose and then ran it through his hair. “So… I went for a swim, showered, came back here and had to spend an hour dealing with removing water from my middle ears and treating the subsequent headache. I NEVER swim without earplugs, but for some reason, completely forgot about them this morning. 

“Then on my way to breakfast, I met my neighbor. The poor woman is from Austria, and she’d lost her passport. Since no one in the hotel besides me seems to speak German, I spent a good portion of the morning explaining her predicament to different authorities, then taking her to her Embassy in Muggle London, and getting her a new passport. She has spent only very little time in the Muggle world and was terrified of going alone, so…”

“How did you discover that she had waylaid her passport?” asked Harry, curious.

“She was with me in the elevator. I noticed her red eyes, and asked her what the matter was.”

“Of course,” said Harry, with a smirk.

Snape glared at him.

“Potter, if you are done interrupting, perhaps I can finish?”

“Sorry.” 

“I came back and was exhausted and uncomfortable. I put on my pajama bottoms, and decided to have a lie-down, which is ridiculous, because I slept eleven hours last night. I had been awake for about an hour, wondering how to get a hold of him when Potter showed up.”

“Interesting,” said Bill. “I will need to do a bit of research. Would one of you please provide me with the actual memory of the event? I need to have a look at the curse trail.”

“You will require Snape’s. I removed my memory and deposited it at the Ministry as evidence.”

Snape shrugged. “Sure,” he said. Bill handed him a glass tube with a cork stopper. Snape pulled a silvery strand from his temple and dropped it in before re-corking the vial and handing it back to Bill.

“I think I have a pretty good idea what happened to the two of you. Until we can be certain, I have a few recommendations.” He looked at them both a little warily. Neither of them struck him as especially compliant, but he had to try.

“I believe you are both demonstrating some of the other’s personality traits.”

They were looking at him in total disbelief.

“You would not be aware of it, of course. Your actions would seem mostly natural to you, if a little out of character.” Seeing he was making no headway, he said to Harry pointedly:

“I have had enough breakfasts with you at the Burrow to know you like your yolks as dry as bones, Harry. You do not dress in black from head to toe. You do not like to spend hours ‘perusing the Esoteric Magic shelves’ of Flourish and Blotts, and you certainly do not like the smell of the apothecary. These are things Professor Snape does."

He turned to Snape.

“Am I right about your liking poached eggs, Professor?”

“You are, though right now, they sound unappealing. Please do call me Severus.”

“That’s just it, Professor. You do not ask people to call you by your first name. You do not swim without earplugs. You do not try to comfort complete strangers in the elevator, or skip breakfast to help a lady in distress. You do not put on your PJs in the middle of the day, or wear jeans and t-shirts. These are all things Harry does.”

Snape looked taken aback, ran his fingers on the bridge of his nose and through his hair as he puzzled the truth of what Bill had said.

“That’s another thing, Professor. You keep trying to push non-existing glasses up your nose, while Harry’s are about to fall off his face. And have you heard each other speak, for Merlin’s sake? Trust me. There has been some personality transference.” 

Snape and Harry stared at each other warily.

“I think on a deeper level you are aware of the substitution and are trying to reclaim your own self, hence the desire you feel for each other’s presence. Your subconscious does not want to deal with it, so you shut down and want to sleep all the time. I have encountered similar reactions before.

“Until I return, you should do what feels right. Stay here, stay together. Sleep as much as you want. The less external stimuli you encounter, the less chances your new personality will have to anchor itself into your deep psyche. 

“I will return as soon as I can. I believe we should be able to correct the problem, once I know exactly the curse that was used."

He looked at Snape, sprawled as he was on an armchair, one leg over the arm, foot swinging, and at Harry, arms and legs crossed, dressed like an undertaker in full robes, and could not help but grin.

“I will see you gentlemen later.” He was still grinning as he disappeared into the green flames of the Floo. 

Harry tried to concentrate and feel the foreign thoughts or behaviors he had acquired from Snape. They had been obvious when Bill had described them, but it was as if his mind was in denial about the possibility. He _felt_ like himself, even if he was _behaving_ like someone else. He yawned, suddenly exhausted.

Snape was looking pensive, and Harry realized he was probably undergoing the same process Harry had just been through, which was confirmed when he also yawned widely. Apparently attempts at self-probing into their confused personalities was a direct ticket to slumber.

“I need another nap,” said Snape.

“I feel that I require additional rest as well, as illogical as it may be,” answered Harry.

“If you have no objection, I shall resume the use of my previous room.”

“OK. See you later.”

Once alone, Harry removed his robes, and after a moment of hesitation, his trousers and sweater as well. There was no point in sleeping in his clothes. He might as well be comfortable. Though terribly tired, and in a very comfortable bed, he found himself tossing and turning, suffering once again from that strange impression of having misplaced something important.

He felt quite certain that the presence of Snape would almost certainly alleviate the sensation but was very reluctant to disturb the man, in case he had managed to fall asleep. A soft knock on his door put an end to his speculation. Snape opened it and stepped in, dressed only in his pajama bottoms and undershirt, and seemed relieved to find him awake. He looked terrible.

“Can’t fall asleep… “ He yawned. “Can I come in?”

Harry moved to one side of the bed, and Snape got in on the other side with a sigh of relief.

"Thanks.”

Immediately, Harry relaxed and slipped into oblivion, not quite sure if their hands had found each other and clasped or if he had imagined it. 

When he woke up, an indeterminate amount of time later (it was dark outside), there was no room left for imagination, or anything else between their bodies. Snape was spooning him: Harry’s head was tucked under his chin, and even their feet were touching. He felt amazingly comfortable, if slightly horrified, and quite happy that his libido was choosing to hibernate at the moment. A raging hard-on would have rendered the situation even more mortifying than it already was.

“Oops, sorry about that,” said Snape, who had apparently woken up as well, as he backed away. "I’m starving," he added conversationally, "do you want something to eat?" 

“Yes,” Harry answered wholeheartedly. He was ravenous. Upon getting up, he noticed that Snape did not seemed riddled by lust either, his pajamas lying perfectly flat, and he could not help but feel a small amount of disappointment. 

They both got medium-rare steaks from the Restaurant, with baked potatoes and plenty of butter, and salads.

“Well,” remarked Snape with a smirk, “that’s at least one thing we have in common.”

“Did you order the green salad out of guilt?” inquired Harry.

“Absolutely.” They burst out laughing, digging in.

Once the edge of the hunger was gone, they started discussing pluralistic charms. Snape knew more general background information than Harry had started with, but Harry’s understanding of the topic was more profound after his recent reading. It was fascinating stuff.

They decided to share a chocolate soufflé for dessert, which led incongruously to a discussion of the concept of sin in Muggle society. Harry’s background was Christian, while Snape’s was Jewish, though neither had received any formal religious education before entering Hogwarts. That too turned out to be a very enriching conversation.

Both philosophies comprised the concept of redemption, which led Snape to talk in a rather shockingly open manner about his past as a Death Eater and as a spy, and Harry to discuss his own personal nemesis, guilt.

By the time they went back to bed, close to three hours later, and as Harry’s back unselfconsciously sought Snape’s front, he reflected that he had found some resolution, and he wondered if it was due to seeing what he had always thought as insurmountable issues through the relentless logic of Snape’s mind. He hoped his own more forgiving nature had also helped Snape find some solace.

 

_Hugging Potter tightly to his chest, Severus tried to make sense of the few hours they had just shared. The easy interaction they had experienced before the curse was different from what had just happened between them._

_He had never spoken to anyone, not even to Albus, about his short few years as a true Death Eater. The guilt, the shame of these years was something he had only contemplated alone, during his bouts of insomnia. The moral dichotomy of his years as a spy had also always been kept buried from anyone._

_But just as there had been nights when these thoughts would not let him be, no matter how hard he had tried to shut them out, he had found himself completely incapable of holding back the words, of changing the topic of conversation with Potter. The man’s green eyes had not left his as he confessed his most terrible regrets, and instead of condemnation, he had only felt empathy from him._

_The usual pattern of circular thinking had also been absent. Something foreign in his heart, something he well knew did not really belong to him, had acknowledged his remorse, and allowed him to move on to other thoughts. He felt cleansed somehow._

_When Potter had talked about the guilt he carried in his heart for all the deaths he had indirectly been responsible for, Severus had sensed the truth of the feeling and its devastating result on the young man’s outlook of his actions during the war._

_He had understood that however illogical the feeling might be, it was a defining aspect of Potter’s personality. He hoped his own perception of reality and of the randomness of some of the events that haunted Potter had been of some help to the younger man. He fell asleep, his nose buried in Potter’s unruly hair, enjoying his scent._

 

The next time they emerged, there was darkness still, but it must have been morning, because they were offered the breakfast menu. They both had eggs on toast, Harry poached, and Severus scrambled dry. At one point, Harry’s glasses almost slipped off his face and into his plate. He crammed them back on with an exasperated gesture.

“Why don’t you get rid of those?” asked Snape.

“My wearing eyeglasses never bothered me before,” answered Harry.

“You know, your eyesight could be corrected with a potion.”

“Yes, I am aware. I never saw a reason to bother before, however. Which is rather astonishing. I find them extremely uncomfortable at the moment.”

“I could Floo Slug and Jiggers, get everything I need, and have the _Eyeright_ Potion ready in a couple hours. It’s a tricky but quick brew.”

“Really? You would not mind?”

“Well, it’s not like I have anything else to do at the moment.”

It took less than thirty minutes for Snape to be ready to start. The small cauldron, the magical flame, the stirrer and the knife he had had in his valise (which made Harry laugh), and the ingredients were simple: parsley, eyes of newts, salamander tears, ant feelers, and Harry’s own glasses (“Well, there will be no further opportunities of changing my mind now!”), which went in last and completely disappeared in a puff of smoke. Snape was funny, humming and dancing around the cauldron in his pajamas.

“I’ve never brewed in my undies before,” he joked.

“Yes, I am quite certain that reflects an aspect of _my_ personality,” answered Harry.

“You brew in your skivvies?”

“In the nude,’” replied Harry, straight-faced.

Snape looked at him, completely astonished.

“I never brew, you understand,” added Harry, still deadpan. “But was I to, I am quite positive it would be in the nude.”

They laughed so hard, Harry had to sit down, and they could not look at each other for quite a while without starting again.

Two hours later, the resulting potion was as clear as water, with the texture of syrup. Harry drank it down, making a preemptive face, but it was surprisingly mild. His vision however stayed as murky as ever.

“Let’s go back to bed,” said Snape. “It will be a couple hours before it takes effect.” 

Relieved, and once again exhausted, Harry approved that notion immediately. A squint at the clock told him it was 10:15 AM. He wondered vaguely when Bill would be back, yawned, and went to sleep in Snape’s now familiar embrace.

The next time Snape woke up, he found Harry in the bathroom, grinning like a fool while reading the back of his bottle of shampoo.

“It worked perfectly,” Harry said.

“Of course,“ said Snape with a shrug.

They each showered in their own room and then had lunch. Harry thought Snape was rather subdued.

“Snape? Is something bothering you?” asked Harry.

Snape suddenly looked…shamefaced.

“Fascinating,” observed Harry, unused to being able to read Snape’s face. “You look guilty.”

Snape’s face immediately became void of all expressions. ”I do not look guilty,” he said in his habitual dismissive way, then ruined it completely by adding: “Do I?”

Harry laughed at him. “Now you look embarrassed,” he said.

“It’s all your fault!” answered Snape petulantly. “Both the look and the sentiment. I’m turning into a bloody Gryffindor!”

“Please explain yourself. You evidently want to…”

“Fine. I feel guilty about correcting your eyesight.”

“Merlin, why? I am quite pleased about it!”

“I’d always disliked your glasses. They hid your eyes. Yesterday, when we were conversing of personal matters, I found myself reaching up as if to push my glasses back several times. Of course I don’t wear glasses, so I realized it’s something you do to separate yourself in uncomfortable situations. All these years, you’ve been hiding behind them.

“It was obvious to me that since I had that urge, you’d no longer have it, and I took advantage of the situation to convince you to get rid of them. I think that once our personalities are restored, you’re going to miss your glasses a lot.”

He looked at Harry to gauge his reaction.

“So, the Slytherin in you could not help but take advantage of the situation, whereas the Gryffindor in you cannot assume the guilt.”

“I should warn you for future reference that that annoying Gryffindor is not normally in residence.”

“Noted. Well, hopefully, this Gryffindor will forgive you.”

“And perhaps there is enough Slytherin in you to appreciate what the change does for your appearance.”

“An improvement, is it?”

“Well, you look a lot less… approachable.”

“And that’s a positive thing?”

Snape’s smile was all Slytherin. “Oh, yes,” he said in his dark velvet voice, “besides which it might cut down considerably on your need to use that _Notice-me-not_ charm of yours.”

Harry had lost track of the conversation for a moment. The use of that voice at close quarters should be made illegal, as well as the look that accompanied it. But his recovery was spectacular.

“Perhaps I should take advantage of the situation as well and manipulate you into having rhinoplasty.”

Snape’s laugh was deep and rambling and came straight from his gut.

“Not a chance,” he said, finally.

“Good,” replied Harry with a smile. “I like your nose. I would not change a thing.”

It was Snape’s turn to look a little off-kilter.

They talked more, Snape of his childhood with his parents, of his friendship with Lily. Harry spoke of the Dursleys, and of Ron and Hermione. They were both of them aware of the fact that they had never, and probably would never have these conversations with anyone ever again, but all the same, it was enormously cathartic and impossible to stop.

Harry felt in him an anger that was not his, that had never before had a place in his recollections of his childhood, and an intense feeling of gratitude for his friends who had stayed with him through everything in his life. He wondered what echo of his own reactions Snape was feeling. Affection for the neglected child he had been? Forgiveness for not having heeded his friend Lily’s advice?

When they gave in to their tiredness and returned to bed, they held each other close, more strongly than before, seeking comfort and finding acceptance in each other’s presence.

They were awoken by Bill calling out from the Floo.

“Ahoy! Is anyone here? I’m coming through!”

Harry could not help but feel their emergence from the bedroom had a certain zombie-like quality. He felt as if most of his brain and half of his body were still asleep. If Bill was surprised to see them come out of the same bedroom, he certainly didn’t show it, though after taking in their semi-comatose state, he called room service for some espresso.

Once it seemed they could carry a coherent conversation, he gave them his report. The curse was not a curse. It was actually a medical spell that had been popular in the first half of the twentieth century to treat certain mental diseases but had since fallen into disrepute. It was the magical equivalent of a frontal lobotomy. Parts of the patient’s personality were removed to make them more pliable, less independent. It was the reason it had penetrated through their shields: it had been designed to be able to slice through the patient’s natural attempts at self-preservation.

However, Harry and Snape’s shield put together had been enough to contain the removed aspects of their personalities, which had then been immediately reabsorbed albeit somewhat randomly.

“The solution is to redo the spell, once again under your shields, but with you standing further apart. Once that’s done, a simple _Accio_ from each one of you should do it. Something like _Accio Meus Verus Sensus_. It should be quite straightforward.”

“Famous last words,” said Harry. “Easy for you to say,” said Snape.

“Well, shall we proceed?”

Snape and Harry stared at each other for a moment and both nodded as one.

They pushed a couch out of the way, allowing almost three meters between them, the maximum distance they should be able to extend their _Protego_. Bill’s spell, like the original, would hit Harry first and Snape second.

Once they were in position, Bill asked, “Ready?” and both Snape and Harry nodded.

Bill pointed his wand, and chanted, “ _Abolesco Penitus Sensus,_ ” with a swift move of his wrist. The spell hit, the shields filled with blue vapor, Snape and Harry both pronounced his recommended _Accio,_ calling their true personality traits back to themselves, and it was done. The shields were empty for several seconds before either one of them remembered to remove them. They both sat down, looking completely worn out.

“I think you will need to rest again,” said Bill. “It might take a while for you to readjust.”

Whereas Harry had been completely unaware that anything was wrong after the curse had struck just three days before, and though he was even more exhausted than he had been, a sense of well-being had washed over him immediately after this second casting and still lingered, a feeling that all was right in the world and that things were finally back to normal. He smiled at Bill.

“Thanks, Bill”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Weasley,” echoed Snape.

“Thanks are fine, but cash is better,” answered Bill. “My invoice will be owled to you both in the next few days.” Then he added in a radio announcer kind of voice, “We would like to thank you for using BFV cursebreaking and wish you a good day.”

Harry laughed and Snape rolled his eyes.

“It’s good to see you both back to normal,” Bill said, once again his easygoing self. “I’ll let you rest now.” And in a flare of green flames, he was gone.

Snape and Harry looked at each other. Harry’s eyes were closing on their own.

“G’night, Snape.”

“Good night, Potter.”

They each retired to their own rooms, and Harry was asleep the second he closed his eyes.

 

 _Before falling asleep, Severus had time to reflect how he missed the presence of Potter in his arms. He did not_ need _the closeness anymore, but he wished for it, very much. He realized his feelings for Potter had evolved far beyond the strong attraction he had felt a few days before. He now found that he loved everything about him: his honesty, his empathy for others, his courage, his inquisitiveness and intelligence, his kindness. He could not fathom a life without that remarkable man in it, and that was even before considering how incredibly attractive he was physically. He buried his considerable nose in his pillow, catching the remnants of Potter’s scent as he succumbed to his exhaustion._

 

Harry woke up feeling refreshed and rested, the cloud of exhaustion that had been with him for days finally lifted. 

He tried to reclaim the detached attitude he had had just days before about a possible future relationship with Snape, but had to face the fact that his feelings for the man were different now than they had been then. The casual attraction was gone. 

Harry was now hopelessly and deeply in love with him. Through the effect of the curse and the resulting completely unguarded time together, he had gotten to know Snape better than he knew anyone else, from the inside out, and he loved everything about him: his intelligence, his cold logic, his quirky and biting humor, his insecurities and the artfulness of his carefully manufactured public persona. 

Whether these feelings were responsible for his current arousal or whether being around Snape so much had made Harry appreciate his physique more, he wasn’t sure. It was ironic though that while they had been forced close together for hours on end by the curse, his body had been so uninterested. Now that two doors and the full length of the suite separated them, the thought of Snape had Harry’s cock at full mast and throbbing with need. 

What he wanted most in that moment was to get up and cross that distance, take back his space in Snape’s bed, and make both of them forget the outside world for a very long time.

But he didn’t dare. When he had first arrived back at the Hotel, Snape had blurted out that he found Harry attractive and enjoyed his company. However, that had been before their time together. Harry was painfully aware from past relationships that, alas, in his case, familiarity did breed contempt.

The few boyfriends he had had through the years seemed to have all left him for the same reasons. After the novelty of the glamour of being with Harry Potter had worn out, there hadn’t seemed to be anything left to keep them interested. Neither his moderate good looks nor his good nature had been enough to make up for the fact that behind it all, he was perfectly ordinary, with limited interests outside of his extremely demanding job. Snape would probably be relieved to see the back of him and grateful he had not had to bother to date him to find that out.

His arousal resisted these sobering thoughts. His mind wandered to the man across the suite, and he imagined what it would be like to make love to him, to tell him through his caresses everything he felt. 

There was still a remnant of Snape’s scent on his shirt and a clear memory of how it had felt to be held in Snape’s arms. He took off the shirt, laid it on the pillow next to him, and lightly running his hand down his chest and stomach, slid it under the waistband of his boxers. He was very hard and started stroking himself slowly, knowing he was already close. 

He remembered Snape’s fine ass in the transfigured jeans, his deep rambling laugh, the smooth white skin he had admired in the pool, with its trail of dark hair, the erotic quality of Snape’s voice, the warmth of Snape’s body against his own, and the impressive cock he had seen in repose in the shower and he came helplessly, in long spurts of exquisite pleasure, his nose deep in his shirt, breathing in the scent of the man he loved.

He lay there for a while, letting his heartbeat return to normal, enjoying his wellbeing. But he could not stay there forever. To motivate himself to get up and face reality, he decided that before leaving he would take advantage of The Merryweather’s magnificent pool one more time. He transfigured his silk boxers into swimming trunks, put on a hotel robe, and left his room.

Snape was up, sitting by the fire and reading, dressed in black, of course. Harry could not help a spontaneous smile at the sight, while his heart decided that beating faster was better.

“Going for a swim?” Snape asked, looking up from his book.

“Yes. I decided to take advantage of the pool while I still could. Would you like to join me?”

“I was counting on it. I held off until you were up. I won’t be a minute.”

Harry was pleased beyond reason that Snape had waited for him for his workout. It meant nothing, really, but he couldn’t help himself.

In the elevator, Harry could not remember how to talk to the man with whom, just a few hours ago, he had exchanged more personal stories than with anyone else before in his life. It reminded him of the morning after one night stands (and why he avoided them strenuously). He was scouring his brain for something to say when he noticed that Snape, also wearing one of the hotel’s bathrobes, was holding a small box in his hands.

“Are these your ear plugs?”

“Yes.” Snape opened the container to show the clear silicone plugs. “I use them for bathing and swimming. Childhood ear infections left my eardrums irreversibly tattered, magic or not. There is such a separation between our British magical world and Muggle technology, I had ever only used cotton wrapped in beeswax as plugs, which left an unpleasant residue in my ear canals, until I discovered these in America.” He closed up the box. “I use to have a phobia of getting my head wet, which resulted in my washing my hair far less often than I should have.” 

He suspected that Snape’s detailed answer might be hiding feelings of uneasiness similar to his, which relaxed him somewhat.

“Really? I’m sure no one noticed,” he answered, deadpan.

Snape chuckled. “Of course not."

Though he felt a little easier, Harry did not want to have to face Snape in the shower. He was quite sure that even after his pleasant wank an hour before, his body would betray him. He got out of the pool earlier than usual and waited for Snape in the atrium.

The ride back to the suite was completely silent, and Harry became more miserable every moment. He felt as if a deep chasm had opened between them, confirming his worst fear. He shouldn’t have stayed.

He wanted to go home and lick his wounds, knowing Snape would be relieved if he left quickly. He went back to his room, dried his togs with a charm, transfigured them back to boxers, and dressed as rapidly as he could. His black clothes felt like a bad joke now, but he couldn’t be bothered to transfigure them. 

He put his stupid overdressed black cloak over his arm and walked out. Snape was just getting out of his room as well. He looked troubled, and Harry was sure he was trying to find a diplomatic way to get rid of him. Snape was about to say something, but Harry cut him off, wanting to save himself the humiliation.

“Well, it’s getting on. I’ve got to go,” he said. “I have a lot of things to catch up with today, and then it will be back to work tomorrow…” 

Snape’s face was now completely expressionless, no doubt hiding his relief at getting off so easily.

“Potter…” 

“It’s been an interesting few days, that’s for sure,” Harry added with an inane and mortifying giggle. He swallowed hard. “I’ll see you around.” One last nod in Snape’s direction, and he was opening the door.

Snape’s hand appeared above his shoulder and slammed the door shut again.

“Where in the hell do you imagine you are going, Potter?” Snape ‘s voice was dangerously low. “Do you sincerely believe that after what we have been through together these past forty-eight hours, you can just leave and pretend none of it ever happened?” 

His back still to Snape, Harry started, “I just don’t see what there is to be gained…”

“Would you at least extend me the courtesy of looking at me when you tell me that it has meant nothing to you?” 

Harry’s heart started beating very strongly in his chest. He had been so blinded by his desire to spare his own feelings, he was being unbelievably rude to a man who had every right to expect his friendship.

Just because there was no chance that Snape’s feelings might mirror his own did not mean he was unaffected by their strange experience. Running off like a coward was incredibly selfish on his part.

Harry took a deep breath and turned to face Snape, who had stepped back from the door. “I’m sorry, Snape. I’m feeling… overwhelmed, and I’m acting like an ass.”

Snape’s eyes were questioning. Harry did not know what he made of his expression, but he seemed to relax a little.

“What makes you think you are the only one feeling overwhelmed?” he asked gently. 

Harry felt his pathetic defenses crumble. He had never been good at hiding his feelings and was sure that now that he was forced to look at Snape, they were written all over his face. His hand came up automatically to adjust his glasses, but even that small protection had been taken away. He felt totally exposed. 

Snape took a step forward and caught his hand before it finished the useless gesture.

“I am sorry, Harry,” he said, sounding truly repentant. 

Then he looked in Harry’s eyes and very deliberately brought the hand he had just caught to his mouth, touching the knuckles to his lips, all the while gauging Harry’s reaction. Harry could not resist. He ran the back of his fingers tentatively along Snape’s jaw and caressed his cheek. Snape leaned into his touch, never dropping his gaze, and stepped forward again, his body now only inches away.

Harry’s control was rapidly slipping. His body was shaking with want, and his heart was thundering in his chest so strongly, he was quite sure that Snape could hear it. He cupped the back of Snape’s head and gently pulled him downward. 

Snape spoke against his lips. “Please do not leave”, he said, his breath warm on Harry’s mouth. “I do not want you to go.” 

“Then I won’t,” answered Harry simply and he pressed their lips together. Because Harry was wearing boots and Snape was barefoot, it was not as awkward as it could have been. Harry stood on his toes, and Snape spread his feet apart a little, reducing their inconvenient height difference, allowing the kiss to deepen.

Snape’s kiss was surprisingly soft and gentle, his tongue pliant, caressing, and almost tentative. It held such tenderness, Harry’s own feelings rushed to the surface, his love sweeping him away. It was a marvelous kiss, the focus of his entire being, alive with words unsaid, each stroke of Snape’s tongue a declaration, and the trembling of his lips a plea and a promise.

Snape’s arms encircled him tightly, and Harry responded by melting against the tall and lean body. His mind was swirling in the sensations and the overwhelming emotions. He hardly noticed the brief Apparation that put them in Snape’s bedroom at the side of the bed where they had spent hours holding tightly onto each other.

“Can we?” asked Snape.

It was wonderful to be asked so pleadingly for what he wanted most in the world.

“Oh, yes,” he answered. “Yes, please.”

They stepped away from each other. How quickly can a person disrobe, given the proper motivation? Evidently quite fast, since one minute they had both been dressed and the next they were lying facing each other in bed, pressed against one another, hands roaming, without a stitch on.

They were kissing again, the same soft and loving kiss as before, but this time their eyes were open, neither of them hiding from what that kiss was saying.

Snape slid a leg between Harry’s and his hands to his backside, getting them that much closer, and then effortlessly rolled Harry on top of him. The change in pressure brought a change in the quality of the kiss. As they started sliding deliciously against each other, it became full of heat and urgency.

Harry knew what he wanted, what he liked, what he craved. His heartbeat became faster and more erratic at the thought of it. But he was worried. So many times his desire to be taken had been answered with enthusiasm in the heat of the moment only to be mocked later. He understood his body well enough to know that once anything touched him there, his need would reduce him to do anything, say anything to be satisfied. 

He thought of Snape’s soft tender kiss. Maybe this time, it would be different. Maybe he would get what he wanted so desperately and not see disdain in Snape’s eyes afterwards. 

Harry sucked in Snape’s tongue, letting it retreat, and sucking it in again, as their hips started grinding against each other in earnest. A light of understanding came into the dark eyes and Snape started fucking Harry’s mouth with his tongue, his silent question answered by the needy moan Harry could not hold back.

“Oh God, yes,” Snape growled, his own want loud and clear, making Harry shiver with anticipation. They rolled again, and Snape was on top. He started kissing his way down Harry’s body, with a determination that was the right answer to Harry’s need, sparking heady sensations on the way with kisses and licks and bites.

Harry watched with helpless arousal as the elegant hands he had always noticed pushed his knees further apart, and he arched helplessly as one of them took his cock and squeezed rhythmically, unmoving. Unexpectedly, Snape’s eager mouth took both his balls in its moist heat as his tongue darted to the sensitive area behind them. It was startling and so delicious, Harry’s orgasm exploded out in hot jets even as he was trying with everything he had to hold it off, a cry of both incredulous pleasure and utter frustration on his lips. 

He opened his eyes to give an apologetic look to Snape, only to find an appreciative light in the dark, dark eyes. With a feral smile on his lips, Snape bent down and eagerly slurped the come off Harry's stomach, taking in his sensitized cock’s head to draw out and swallow the last possible drop.

To his grateful disbelief, Harry felt his cock twitching under Snape’s sloppy ministrations and starting to fill again.

Snape slipped both hands under his ass and raised it off the bed, spreading his cheeks with his thumbs. Anticipating the exquisite pleasure of a probing finger, Harry closed his eyes. The delight of a warm wetness sweeping over his entrance followed by a warm breath blowing on it sent his senses whirling. Before Harry’s mind could adjust, Snape’s tongue was circling Harry’s hole, his lips sucking, his tongue getting closer and closer to that moment of perfection when it hardened and stabbed, penetrating Harry’s anus, hot and moist and perfect, making Harry scream in pleasure, his cock gloriously back to full hardness. 

For an eternity it seemed rimming his hole was Snape’s reason for living and mewling in helpless wonder was Harry’s destiny. His empty hands were fisting the sheets, his head thrashing on the pillow, and he was panting, begging incoherently, arching with shattered cries. 

The long thumbs kept opening him further, massaging the outer ring of muscles, the tongue was following in, warming, soothing, relaxing his sphincter, and Snape’s prominent nose was pushing in his perineum, applying external pressure to his prostate, making him see sparks and stars. From a glazed distance, he watched, barely aware, as Snape transfigured all the wetness left by his saliva into something much slicker, raised his hips with a bolster and, pushing Harry’s knees up and apart against his chest, guided himself into him in one smooth motion. 

Filling him completely, his balls pressed tight against Harry’s ass, Snape looked at him with jealous possessive greed. Harry loved that Snape’s expression should be so unguarded, so nakedly needy. Then Snape started to move, slowly at first, never looking away, and the world flipped again. Harry felt open, body and soul, and absolutely certain that only Snape could fill that void. 

The pain from the entry of Snape’s imposing cock eased and pleasure returned tenfold. Harry held on tight to his knees, as Snape’s rhythm increased, his hips snapping, his balls slapping Harry cheeks, the pumping cock rubbing Harry prostate at each pass, its motion pulling the sensitive rim of his hole in and out, making red flowers of pleasure bloom behind his lids.

Snape’s noises of bliss, first low purring growls, then deep rhythmic grunts, could have, alone, brought Harry to the brink, but his entire body was already singing in rapture, each thrust bringing him higher and higher. Finally Snape arched back and pushed into Harry one last time, as deep as he could go, his whole body pulsing with his release, his guttural cries filling the room, and Harry came again, hard, his eyes locked on the white skin of his lover’s neck, on his Adam’s apple and the curve of his jaw, in his orgasmic delirium the most gorgeous sight he had ever seen.

Their eyes met again, as Snape gently pulled out of him. Though his whole body was shaking, Snape pushed himself to his knees, removed the bolster from under Harry’s hips, and helped him unfold his cramping legs, caressing them lovingly from hips to feet. He finally collapsed on his side next to Harry and held him close. Harry turned his body slightly to face him, nuzzle his chin and lick his lips. Snape opened his mouth and his tongue met Harry’s in a lazy and messy kiss, both their heads resting on the same pillow. At the last possible moment, Harry remembered the cleaning charms, and they dozed off, breathing each other’s air.

 

_Severus woke up, his nose buried in his lover’s soft hair. The feeling was intensely gratifying, especially after he had feared, for a short while, that he had been mistaken, that Harry did not share his feelings._

_He had not been surprised at the awkwardness that had existed between them at first. After the intensity of the experience they had shared, it was probably to be expected, though had he been left to his own devices, he would have been kissing Harry the second he came out of his room._

_But Harry had been dressed for a swim, and Severus had taken that as a signal that he wished to take things slower. He had only started worrying when Harry had not stayed in the shower long enough for Severus to join him. He had pictured at least some sensuous soaping, even if some slow lovemaking in the hot water was not yet on offer._

_Harry’s distant stance on the elevator ride back had definitively raised his doubts. He had dressed quickly, wanting to discuss things, only to be faced with the realization that Harry was leaving, without a word of explanation. Which obviously was not acceptable. Once Harry had turned to look at him, however, Severus had known he had been right._

_Harry’s face was suffused with love and yearning, but the brave Gryffindor had been too afraid to act on it. And whose fault was that? Severus’s of course. With Harry feeling so vulnerable, was it any wonder Severus’s past abuse, humiliation and ridicule had tainted the younger man’s perception? Severus had made the decision to open himself to rejection, to give Harry control of the situation. He had begged him to stay and would never regret trusting in Harry’s forgiving nature._

_One never knew what to expect with a new lover. There, it was Harry’s trust in him that had left him shattered. That he should offer himself, open himself so completely to Severus had been the most wonderful surprise. Never had Severus felt so wholly welcome and wanted as when he had entered Harry’s body._

_“Mine,” he had thought, “you are mine,” barely resisting the need to say it aloud, only to see his thoughts echoed on Harry’s face as Harry felt the power his surrender gave him over Severus. Moving inside Harry had been heavenly bliss, the look of intense pleasure on his lover’s face the most beautiful thing of all._

_He had lost himself in his orgasm, only to feel Harry follow him in his ecstasy, his channel pulsing around him. He had never felt in such harmony with another, had never felt love overwhelm him in such a way before. Yet, when he had helped Harry stretch after their joining, he had felt so filled with love, his heart might have burst._

_Now he held his love against his heart. The intensity of it would have been frightening had the man in his arms been anyone but Harry, his Harry._

 

Unsurprisingly, when Harry woke up, Snape was spooning him. It was immeasurably more pleasant than waking up alone as he had that morning, especially now that he knew his feelings were returned. Snape’s arms tightened possessively around him, signaling he was awake as well.

“Harry,” he whispered in his ear, “Harry…” 

Harry found Snape’s hand and entwined their fingers. “Severus,” he sighed and smiled at the utter sentimentality of the moment. He didn’t care. He was ridiculously happy.

“You would have left,” said Severus, still speaking softly.

“I was scared,” he answered honestly, “that because you really knew me now, you would find me wanting.”

Before answering, Severus gave him a reassuring squeeze.

“For better or for worse, Harry, I have never looked at you as ‘The Boy Who Lived’ or ‘The Man Who Killed Voldemort’. I have always only seen you.”

“And you didn’t always like what you saw…”

A deep chuckle rumbled in Severus’s chest, so close to his own he felt its vibrations inside.

“Actually, from the first day of your sixth year, Harry, I have quite liked what I ‘saw’…”

“Pervert.” 

The deep chuckle again, and Severus went on.

“Meeting you for the first time, people see an exalted being, not who you really are. Meeting you again, I just saw the man you have become and liked him, very much indeed.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of Harry’s head. “And now…now that I know you better than anyone else ever will, now that I have had an opportunity to _be_ you to some small extent…Harry, I do not find you wanting. In any way.” 

He moved his hips forward a little, pressing his erection against Harry’s cleft, in emphasis. 

Harry smiled and pressed back.

Severus disentwined their fingers, and he took a hold of Harry’s hardening cock, stroking him lazily, in rhythm with his rocking hips. Then Severus’s other hand retreated from Harry side and slipped under his thigh. A finger found his entrance and started pressing it slightly. Oh, God. That was so good. Harry bit his lips, trying to contain his reaction.

“And this is like a wondrous gift, Harry,” whispered Snape, his breath hot in Harry’s ear, his words heat in his heart. “That you should so like to receive what I so like to give.” 

The feeling of complete acceptance, the warm tongue in his ear, the quickening hand on his cock were heaven. Then the knowing finger breached him and he came, unresisting, sighing his lover’s name, “Severusssss…”

Severus’s arms came around to hold him tight again, as he kissed and nuzzled Harry’s neck. Harry turned into the embrace, captured his mouth, and explored its depth lovingly, enjoying their amazing kiss. He sucked the lower lip, lightly bit the jaw, and left a searing trail of kisses down the neck, triggering his own memory of Severus’s orgasm that morning, which sent shivers down his spine. He kept his downward journey, acquainting himself with the lovely (and deliciously sensitive) brown nipples, the ticklish ribs, and finally the downy trail of hair that was leading him to his goal. 

Harry had no illusions about himself and was all too aware of his own limitations. But there were a few things he was very good at, like teaching, being an Auror, or cooking. Some he even excelled at, like flying. There was one area, however, where his skills approached absolute perfection so closely as to be indistinguishable from it, and poor unsuspecting Severus was about to find out what that was.

Severus’s cock, fully erect, was gorgeous. He was circumcised, long and moderately thick, with an impressive head. Severus made himself comfortable, lying flat on his back, with his hands behind his head, obviously looking forward to the coming sight. Harry smiled at him innocently as he lay down between his parted legs. 

Then he proceeded to do to Severus what could best be described as the direct exact opposite of a well-applied _Cruciatus_ curse - though, from the screaming, writhing, and flailing that occurred during the process, a casual observer would be hard-pressed to tell the difference.

By the time Harry rejoined Severus at the head of the bed, licking his reddened lips with relish, the only sign of life in his lover’s slackened body were his eyes, which followed Harry with something very near awe. As Harry cuddled his side and brought up the duvet, Severus licked his dried lips and said in a roughened voice:

“I shall never be able to move again.”

“There, there,” answered Harry, kissing his shoulder lightly. “A month or two, and you will be as good as new.”

Severus chuckled. “You might warn a fellow. So he could make sure his affairs are in order.”

“No worries. I just found you. I intend to keep you alive.”

Severus sighed. “It would be a glorious way to go.”

It was Harry’s turn to chuckle. It took about ten minutes before Severus had recuperated enough to stretch and move to put his arms around Harry. Then he yawned.

“Oh, no you don’t,” said Harry. “I’m starving. Let’s get up and have lunch.”

“Shower. Now.”

“All right. Let’s go.”

 

Harry chose a small French restaurant in Theatric Alley, complete with white starched tablecloths and fresh flowers on the table. They served the best Quenelles Lyonnaises in London, even if one had to put up with the French waiter’s native arrogance. It helped when the sommelier recognized Harry, not as the Savior of the Wizarding World (pfft!), but much more importantly, as a close friend of Fleur Delacour. 

This, of course, made Harry and Severus family and honorary Frenchmen. It insured that they had the best lunch to be had this side of the Channel, which in turn meant a two-hour affair, with a great bottle of white burgundy to accompany the quenelles and champagne with dessert. 

The dessert was the true reason Harry had chosen “La Grange à Sel”. The Profiteroles au Chocolat, which had to be ordered at the beginning of the meal, were Sin, filled with chocolate and covered in chocolate sauce. Harry had only asked for one order. His dessert was to watch Severus eat it. It was just as good as he had anticipated.

When the complimentary Armagnac was served after their coffee, Harry was feeling distinctly mellow.

“There is something we should talk about,” said Severus.

“All right.”

“You are leaving London and going to Hogwarts.”

“Not until early August, probably, but yes, that’s my plan. Why?”

“The last time we talked about my future plans, I told you I had several options.” Severus sipped the golden liquid in his glass. “There are three. Before the conference, I strongly favored one of them. Now, I think we should talk about it.”

Harry felt a warm glow in his gut that had nothing to do with the Armagnac. Severus was talking about the future. Their future.

“No matter what you choose, if it’s within Britain, I can probably Apparate there,” he said. “You should do what appeals to you most.”

There was no mistaking the warmth in Severus’s eyes. He went on. “There is a position I have been approached about at Oxford University, to continue academic research.” Harry nodded.

“There is a private laboratory in South Wales, _Seacliffs and Sons_ , where I could also continue doing research, but in the private sector, which would mean much higher financial rewards.” 

“And the last one?” asked Harry, knowing somehow that the topic of their conversation still lay ahead.

“This is the one I was considering accepting before. It is my heart’s choice, but I have not yet given my answer, and I could be very happy with either of the other two options.”

Harry wondered why Severus was giving him all these caveats. He suddenly recalled the conversation in the elevator, right before they had been attacked, and Severus’s hesitancy then.

“All right, let’s hear it,” he said, not able to take the suspense.

Severus was looking at him with such intensity that Harry was reminded of Legilimency, except that now, he had very good Occlumency skills and would certainly feel it if Severus was trying to pry, which he was not.

“It’s a teaching position, Harry. Potions Master. At Hogwarts.”

Harry first reaction was utter relief. It was not in Australia, or New Zealand, too far for him to Apparate. His second was happiness. Severus would be at Hogwarts with him; they would be together every day, every night. His third was doubt. Was Severus saying this was no longer his first choice? Did he think it would be too much for them to be in that close proximity all the time? He had mentioned a desire to return to teaching. If Severus chose Hogwarts but thought it was too soon for them to… Did that mean that Harry might have to reconsider his choice? Or worse, that they should put their relationship on hold?

Harry put down his glass and leaned forward towards Severus.

“Please, Severus, just tell me what you want to do. I assure you that whatever your choice, I will be all right with it.”

“I want to teach at Hogwarts again,” Severus replied immediately.

“But? Just tell me, because I know there is a _but_ coming. But what?”

Severus looked down at his hands. “But I do not want to crowd you. I do not want our relationship jeopardized by my choice. I do not want you to give up on what you want and stay with the Aurors if you think this will be too much too soon. I do not want to put our relationship on hold so we can both teach there, if …”

“Severus?”

“What?”

“Do you think our quarters should be in Gryffindor tower, or would you be more comfortable if we lived in the dungeons?”

Severus looked at him and answered without hesitation, “Dungeons. Definitely.”

Harry knew his smile was closer to a completely goofy grin than was acceptable for a respectable young teacher, but he didn’t care much. And when Severus looked back at him with the closest thing to a goofy grin Harry had ever seen on his face, he stopped caring altogether.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Severus Sighs Grand Challenge was the first fest I ever entered, and this fic the first fic over 2000 words I ever posted.  
> The hotel and its restaurant were named after the three fairies in the Walt Disney version of Sleeping Beauty: Merryweather, Flora and Fauna.


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